


Ambrosia

by daisyisawriter91



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Good Mordred, Good morgana, M/M, Magical Realism, Mob Boss Uther, Pianist Merlin, Secret Relationship, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13033266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyisawriter91/pseuds/daisyisawriter91
Summary: In a time where gin was the national drink and sex the national obsession, the son of a prominent mob boss visits a speakeasy called the Ambrosia Club and finds a lot to love, including the owner, Emrys. But with his father out for Emrys' blood, Arthur has to keep the place safe, or else he'll lose it and the man he loves forever.





	1. The Ambrosia Club

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story on AO3, so I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing yet, but I've already posted this on FFN, so this is just editing (which it sorely needed) and posting on here. Please enjoy.  
> The song mentioned in this chapter is here :https://youtu.be/1JXmHUkUJVI

Arthur wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking when he agreed to Morgana’s idea. Then again, no one was ever sure what they had been thinking when it came to Morgana. It was one of those things that was so inexplicable you couldn’t even believe it was real until her ideas panned out, for better or worse. Although, he had to admit, he was quite interested in seeing what a speakeasy looked like.  
The pair of half-siblings stepped out into the New York streets, catching no attention in their deceptive coats.  
It had been a trial lying to their father, but they had managed. The Pendragons had practice.  
Morgana led him to a midnight blue door with a silver speakeasy grate closed to the outside world. The door had words engraved in the wood. Above the grate was _‘The Ambrosia Club’_ and below it was _‘Thee who harbors ill intent may not pass through.’_ Morgana sent him a fleeting glance with her stark green eyes then knocked on the door.  
The grate opened revealing eyes the color of coffee. “Password.” the eyes demanded in a husky male voice.  
“Turnip.” Morgana said, without hesitation. Arthur raised an eyebrow at his sister, who said nothing as the door swung open. A man with stubble and long hair ushered them quickly inside. Arthur distantly heard the door lock behind them and Morgana explaining the password, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen. He was too wrapped up in the interior.  
Glasses with small orange flames hung suspended in midair all around the room, lighting it spectacularly. The bar to his left had rows upon rows of alcohol on the wall and on the stage further back was a dark-skinned woman singing to jazz music played behind her. Small tables were arranged strategically around the deceivingly large room and ornate wallpaper adorned the walls. The speakeasy was packed to the gils, Arthur observed. He noticed that the bar led into other rooms, likely a pool table in one and a few back rooms. Most eyes were on the woman singing passionately.  
_“Behind the shadows and the darkness, a scene left lifeless, secrets crawl, move along throughout these empty streets…”_ she sang into the microphone. She wore a low cut black dress, the kind Arthur recognized belonged to flappers. Much like the silver one Morgana wore.  
Instead of waiters, people raised their hands and their drinks came to them, floating like the lights in the room.  
“Wow.” He breathed. The place was beautiful.  
“I know.” Morgana answered. Arthur took off his coat, realizing the room was much warmer than the November air outside.  
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Arthur muttered, awestruck.  
“And you never will. Emrys is a good owner, he makes the whole thing feel legal.” Morgana added.  
“Emrys?” Arthur questioned.  
“You called?” A voice broke their conversation. What struck Arthur first about the man was his eyes. Like someone had trapped pieces of the winter sky and polished them like jewels. Then Arthur took in the rest of the man’s appearance. Long and lanky, slight stubble on his chin, and ruffled black hair. Arthur had to admit, this man was handsome. His bow-tie was slightly askew and not tied quite properly, but if anything, it was endearing. Arthur had the nagging suspicion he’d seen this man somewhere before. The familiarity tugged incessantly at his brain, but he couldn’t place him. The man smiled and Arthur was forced to look elsewhere.  
“Hello again, Morgana.” He had a British accent with a hint of something else hidden inside.  
“Hello, Emrys. This is my brother, Arthur.” Morgana introduced.  
“Ah, so _you’re_ the famous brother! I must say, Morgana hasn’t painted a very kind picture of you, but you’re different than I imagined. Pleased to meet you, I’m Emrys.” The man held out his hand and Arthur shook it. He was surprised to find that it was calloused. Like he had worked his whole life.  
“Of course, when it comes to Pendragons, I shouldn’t make assumptions. After all, you were able to come inside.” Emrys said. While Arthur dealt with his confusion, the woman behind them sang her heart out. “I should explain. You’ve likely noticed that this place is magic?” Arthur had noticed it but hadn’t quite acknowledged what that meant. He simply nodded in mute silence, not trusting himself to answer. “I enchanted this place so that no one who meant ill could even see the door, let alone come in. Anyone who finds a reason to do this place harm will be thrown out, quite literally. I’ve seen it happen.”  
“You could be killed if you’re found out.” Arthur pointed out, stupidly. He couldn’t help but be worried what would happen to this place. Emrys smirked.  
“A risk I’m willing to take. Prohibition was a stupid move, just about as stupid as the magical ban. If I can help change that, I’ll do what I can.” Emrys replied. The sentiment was familiar.  
“I’m sorry, have we met before?" Arthur questioned, curious.  
“I’m afraid not. I think I’d remember meeting someone like you.” Emrys drawled, leaning on the oak bar and pouring himself (through the use of magic) a glass of gin. “Enjoy your evening. Oh, and Morgana, Tomorrow starts a new week for passwords. It’s ‘cabbage’.”  
“Thank you.” Emrys nodded, smirk still planted on his face, and stepped through a closed door, likely an office. The song concluded just as he shut the door. The woman stepped off the modest stage and set her eyes on Morgana. She smiled and walked over to join them. She sent a glance Arthur’s way then turned to his sister.  
“Did he just meet Emrys?” Morgana laughed at the girl’s question.  
“Yes, he did. Arthur, this is Gwen Smith.” Gwen nodded in his direction, but Arthur was barely paying attention.  
“Arthur Pendragon.” He muttered.  
“He’s still baffled, isn’t he? Em makes everyone like this. I’ve known him for five years, and I’m still a little confused.” she told him. “He’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery covered in question marks.”  
“Why are all of his passwords _vegetables?_ ” Arthur questioned. That was the only thing he could focus on.  
“It’s confusing. If you’re thrown out of the bar, you won’t be let back in even if you shout the password. And if you shout the password, you’re written off as a crazy person in society. He may be confusing, but he’s brilliant.” Morgana explained. “Honestly, I thought you were listening when I said this the first time.” Arthur scowled in response but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have a leg to stand on. He hadn’t been listening to her. “Ready to try gin, golden boy?”  
“Wait. He’s never had a drink before?” Gwen questioned.  
“Never. And he’s starting now.” Morgana raised her hand and a glass of gin poured itself. “This is a good thing to try. If you don’t like it, they stock wine, beer, and whiskey, too.” Arthur took the glass from her outstretched hand and drained it. He expected to hate it. He was pleasantly surprised.  
“I’ll take another.”


	2. Come the Morn

Merlin set down his book with a resounding _thump_ and drank down the dregs of his coffee, wishing he had more.   
Of all the things he’d been expecting, Arthur was _not_ among them.   
Though the morning light bathed his skin, it did little to help his mood. He’d barely gotten any sleep the night before. Arthur’s presence was strange.   
Silently, Merlin lamented about his lack of more coffee. He still felt sleep at the edges of his mind and his movements were slow as if he were walking through mud. Mostly, he couldn’t sleep because lurking behind his eyelids was the image of the blonde man.   
He was slightly happy Arthur at least recognized him, but he couldn’t help but want more. It seemed like just yesterday Arthur had left, though it had been something like ten years previously. It also seemed like eternity since Arthur died the first time, in his past life.   
Merlin heard the phone ring and picked it up. “Hello?”   
_“Sorry, did I wake you?”_ Mordred’s voice came through the phone.  
“No. Such a feat is impossible, seeing as I haven’t fully roused myself out of sleep.” Merlin said, dramatically. Mordred laughed.  
 _“I got your message. What is it you wanted to talk about, Merlin?”_  
“Arthur.” Merlin said it in a sigh. He could practically hear Mordred tense. Mordred still remembered his past life, like Merlin had hoped Arthur did. “I saw him last night. He came to the Ambrosia.”  
 _“Did he remember anything?”_  
“Not a thing.” Merlin said, sighing again.  
 _“Alright, so who do we have?”_ Mordred asked.   
“I’ve got a list. Gwen, Lancelot, Perceval, and Gwaine all remember. Morgana doesn’t remember but I think she suspects something’s up. Arthur doesn’t remember and I have no idea where Leon and Elyan are.” Merlin had been searching for the last two knights everywhere, but he’d had no luck.  
 _“And Uther?”_ Mordred questioned, warily.  
“I don’t know and I don’t care to know.” Merlin replied, flatly.  
 _“You should tell Arthur.”_ Mordred insisted. Merlin laughed without any humor.  
“About what, the past lives? He’ll think I’ve lost my mind.” Merlin pointed out.  
 _“No, I’m not an idiot. I meant about what happened when you were de-aged.”_  
“I must admit, Mordred, it’s good to have you as an ally. I’ll see you later.” Merlin hung up and picked up his abandoned book, _The Great Gatsby_. It was an excellent new read. He had to admit, he connected to the story more than others. He found he couldn’t focus on the words and slammed his book back down.  
“Dammit.”

 

Arthur had woken with inspiration. Inspiration for what, he had no clue. He just knew that he had to put something onto paper. He’d also woken with a splitting headache, and was glad for his clear schedule.   
He’d dressed very slowly, quick movements upsetting his head. Now, sitting at his desk, he grabbed hold of his inspiration and held tight while staring at a blank page. It was intimidating. A knock at the door broke him out of his staring contest.   
“Come in.” His father stepped into the room and Arthur leaned back in his chair. “Father.”  
“Arthur, there’s…someone here to see you…” Uther seemed very confused by the entire thing.  
Everything inside Arthur protested as he followed his father down to the front door. A man stood at the door with dark hair and icy blue eyes. He turned his pensive gaze on Arthur and Arthur felt a sharp stab of fear.   
Something about this man was wrong. He smiled at Arthur and took off his hat. His father went back inside, leaving the pair of men in the chill.   
“Ah, yes. Just as I remember you.” The man said, voice quiet and peaceful.  
“Have we met before?” Arthur asked, feeling very much like they had.  
“Yes. But you wouldn’t remember.” The man replied. Arthur decided to push this piece of information away.  
“Is there something you wanted from me?” Arthur demanded.  
“Not me, personally. I’m not here on my own behalf. I’m here on the behalf of Emrys. I believe you met him last night?” The man prompted.  
“Yes, I remember him. Did he send for me?” Arthur questioned, curiously, hopefully. The man laughed.  
“No, he has absolutely no idea I’m here. He will never come to you on his own, even though he said he would. I’m here to simply ask of you a favor. Come back again tonight, to-” The man cut himself off, abruptly, and looked around. “Back to the Ambrosia club.” He said in a low voice. Arthur was alarmed.  
“How do you know about that?” Arthur asked, alarmed.  
“Emrys is a very good friend of mine, as well as a business partner. I know just as well as he who comes in and out of the Ambrosia.” The man answered, simply.  
“And who exactly are you? I believe I have a right to know who it is that is asking favors of me.” Arthur pointed out. He didn’t intend to reveal that his plan was to indeed go back.   
“My name is Mordred. Mordred le Fay.” The man answered, warm (yet small) smile on his face.  
“And, tell me, how did you come to find this house?” Arthur questioned. It was beginning to seem more like an interview. Mordred chuckled.  
“You’re not exactly secretive, Mr. Pendragon. Most of those in the upper crust know your location.” Mordred quipped. It was Arthur’s turn to laugh.  
“And you’re in the upper crust?” Arthur was incredulous.  
“Indeed. Myself and Emrys both are, though, we mostly use pseudonyms for our, shall we say, _indelicate_ activities.” Mordred explained. Arthur frowned. “Honestly, Mr. Pendragon, did you expect Emrys to be his real name? I divulge to you my real name in complete confidence and I would urge you to not speak it at the Ambrosia.” Mordred insisted.   
Arthur had to admit, he _hadn’t_ thought of it that way. Emrys had given no last name, nor formally introduced himself as Emrys.  
“I had obviously thought of that. I just was questioning as to why you’d divulge such information to me?” Arthur bluffed. Mordred smiled and rolled his eyes, seeing right through him.  
“That, Mr. Pendragon, I have already answered. I have asked a favor of you, it is only fair that I tell you the full truth of the situation. Well, the full truth that is in my power to say. Emrys, of course, has more to say. I need no affirmation, I have fulfilled my desires by coming here, and now, I shall take my leave. I only hope you will consider it.” Mordred placed his hat back upon his dark curls and walked down the street, leaving Arthur baffled.   
Arthur walked back inside the house and found his father waiting for him.   
“Arthur, I have an assignment for you.” Uther said. Arthur caught himself before he grinned. His father rarely allowed him to partake in the business, though he was hardly surprised. They did run a mafia, after all.  
“Yes, Father?” Arthur prompted.   
“I need you to find and bump off a rather trifling man. He’s caused us a lot of problems as of late. Known for sorcery, murdering a few of our men, engaging in illicit activities, and running a speakeasy.” Uther began explaining. Arthur’s heart plunged. He had a very bad feeling about where this was going.   
“He calls himself ‘Emrys’.”


	3. The Lady of the Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song mentioned in this chapter: https://youtu.be/MkD_kYkRk3c

Because, for totally normal reasons, Arthur was still nervous to go to the Ambrosia Club on his own, he asked Morgana to come along. She readily agreed. Apparently she had made a plan to see Gwen.   
So, once again, he stood outside the door while Morgana said ‘cabbage’ to the bouncer. And once again, Arthur was greeted by the sheer beauty of the speakeasy.   
Wordless jazz floated through the air and patrons drank happily. Emrys was nowhere to be seen. He was both pleased and disappointed by that. Pleased because the words his father had said were still ringing in his ears, and disappointed for reasons he couldn’t exactly pinpoint. He convinced himself it was just because of what Mordred had said.   
Arthur smelled cigars on the air and wondered distantly where they were being smoked. He saw out of the corner of his eye a man standing in a dark corner. Mordred, further inspection revealed.   
Mordred raised a glass of reddish brown liquid in Arthur’s direction, as a form of salutations. Arthur moved to join him but Morgana caught his arm. “Look at the stage!” she whispered. He looked and noticed a short, pale girl in a deep violet dress. She was gorgeous. “That’s the Lady of the Lake! She only sings once a month and she sounds amazing. Arthur, you have to hear this.” Morgana raised her hand and two glasses of the reddish brown liquid. One flew into Arthur’s hand, the other into Morgana’s.  
“Whiskey.” Morgana explained and sat them at a table with a clear view of the girl. The music started up behind her.  
 _“Now you say you love me. You cried the whole night through. Well, you can cry me a river…”_ She began, her voice ethereal and beautiful.   
Arthur finally caught sight of Emrys, standing in the doorway where he disappeared through the previous night.   
Emrys leaned against the oaken doorframe, bow-tie untied around his collar, looking particularly rumpled. He was staring at the girl, an odd gleam in his eyes, a small smile on his face. If Arthur was venturing a guess, he’d say Emrys was tranquil.   
The tables moved seemingly of their own will, slowly, to accommodate a small dance floor in the middle of the bar. He was certain that was new. A few couples got up to dance, including Gwen with an unfamiliar man. Yet again, Arthur had the sensation of familiarity. Gwen smiled at Morgana and Arthur from the dance floor.   
“What do you say, Arthur? Care for a dance?” Morgana smiled at him as she said it. Arthur felt a smile tugging at his lips.  
“It’s supposed to be my job to ask.” Arthur joked. They moved to the dance floor and began swaying, slowly. It wasn’t perfect and certainly wasn’t in time, but Arthur didn’t really care.   
For the most part, he and his sister didn’t get along. It was nice to spend time with her.   
“I’ve noticed Emrys sending you looks.” Morgana murmured.  
“Has he been? I haven’t noticed.” Arthur said, hiding the thrill the sentence gave him  
“I think there’s much more to him than meets the eye, don’t you agree?” Morgana suggested, wry smile on her face.  
“I do agree.” Arthur said. He hadn’t mentioned Mordred and wasn’t planning in mentioning it in the future.   
Arthur spun Morgana around so that her back was to his chest. He hadn’t danced with his sister since they were children.  
“You dance quite well, Arthur. Better than you used to.” Morgana commented. Arthur chuckled.   
“I did used to dance quite horribly, didn’t I?” Arthur agreed.  
“You stepped on my feet when you made even the tiniest movement.” Morgana reminisced.  
“I did. But you did, too.” Arthur shot back.  
“I did not!” Morgana protested.  
“Oh, you did.” Arthur replied, spinning her again. Morgana giggled.   
“Maybe I did. We were children, not perfect.”  
“Speak for yourself.”   
The song ended and the Lady of the Lake stepped gracefully off the stage. Morgana and Arthur parted and Arthur sent a glance to Emrys’ door. It was closed. Now or never, Arthur said to no one but himself.   
Arthur walked up to the door and knocked, not quite sure what to expect. The door slid open, but no one was in the doorway. Arthur was still quite astounded by magic.   
He stepped inside and the door closed behind him with a muffled _click_. He distantly heard the sounds of another song being played, but paid it no mind.   
Emrys was leaning back on the back legs of his chair, feet up on the desk, shuffling through papers. The room was beautiful, if not a little cluttered.   
On bookshelves were various volumes and tomes, ages varying, and other knickknacks. In the center of the room was the desk, large and made of black and gold metal. He’d never seen a metal desk before. The wallpaper that showed through was a pleasant forest green.  
“Arthur Pendragon, what brings you to my humble office?” Emrys asked in that strange British accent, not bothering to look him in the eyes.   
“Earlier today I was visited by a man named Mordred le Fay.” Arthur began. Still not looking up from the papers, Emrys raised an eyebrow.  
“Were you, now? Very strange of him to give his real name. Must’ve wanted something terribly.” Emrys mumbled, somehow alert and aloof all at once.   
“He did. He wanted me to come back here.” Arthur replied. At this, Emrys righted his chair and set his papers down on the desk. “He said that you wanted to see me but would never come, yourself.” Emrys scowled at Arthur’s words  
“He had no right to do that. I told him I would get to this. But on my own time.” Emrys muttered, angrily. Arthur shifted in place.   
It was bad enough knowing that Emrys and Mordred, the man who sent shivers down his spine, were talking about him. Now he knew that Emrys was planning something. What it was, he couldn’t imagine.   
“What, pray tell, did you want to speak to me about?”   
“Like I said, on my own time, Pendragon.” Emrys said. He looked at Arthur earnestly and Arthur suddenly recognized his eyes, though he couldn’t recognize where from.  
“Are you certain we’ve never met before?” Arthur questioned, desperate. Emrys sighed, deeply.  
“We have. But you wouldn’t recognize me. I’ve done too many things to change myself for you to recognize me. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, terribly, I have some paperwork to get back to.” Emrys replied, shortly. Arthur stared in amazement at the man.   
Now that his mind was on it, everything about Emrys was familiar, like a far off memory he couldn’t hope to reach.   
As he turned to leave the room his mind was flooded with the image of a gorgeous sword in a large stone. He shook his head and stepped out of the office.   
Whiskey must be quite strong, indeed.

_Arthur ran through the wheat fields, looking over his shoulder occasionally, laughing. “C’mon, Merlin!” He shouted. “You’ll never catch me going that slow!”_  
Behind him, a grubby black-haired boy of thirteen ran to catch up. To Arthur’s great surprise, he was soon tackled to the ground by his best friend.   
“There…you stupid…prat…” Merlin panted.   
“Good job, Merlin. I didn’t think you were capable of catching me.”  
“Sod off, you bloody dollophead!” Merlin shouted. Arthur just laughed as Merlin rolled off him.   
“That’s one of your favorite words, but no matter how many times you use it, it will never be a real word.” Arthur said, entirely out of breath.   
“How do you know? I could be a word inventor. What are those people called?” Merlin asked, truly considering it.  
“How about you make up a word for it, if you want to be one so badly?” Arthur suggested, only half-serious.  
“That’s a brilliant idea.” Merlin exclaimed, sitting up.  
“You’ll find I’m full of those.” Arthur muttered. Merlin pointedly ignored this part.  
“Hmm…Winventor? Inord?” Merlin thought aloud. Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin’s expression of deep thought.  
“Honest to God, you are the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”  
“Shut up.”   
All of a sudden, the two boys were in a forested area. They were a bit older now, sixteen and fifteen. Arthur cupped Merlin’s hands in his. “Where are you headed?” Merlin asked, quietly.  
“New York, I think. Merlin, I wish I didn’t have to go. If it was up to me…” Arthur trailed off.  
“I know. You can’t help it. But I’ve got a feeling I’ll see you again.” Merlin said, slight smile attempting to make its way onto his face. Arthur laughed, sadly.  
“You and your feelings. I swear, you’re among the strangest people I’ve ever met.”  
“Don’t forget the stupidest. You’ll meet a lot of people in New York, but don’t forget who wins that title.” Merlin said, sternly. Arthur looked at his feet.  
“I won’t.” Arthur promised. Merlin reached forward, slowly, and kissed him.  
Arthur’s eyes flew open and he instantly wanted to hit himself. How could he not recognize Merlin? Merlin, the boy who approached him at the age of six, all loose clothing, odd angles, and dirty hands. Merlin, who spent hours talking with Arthur about the silliest things and called him a prat constantly. Merlin, who was always tanned in the summer from his hard work in the fields. Merlin, the very love of his life.   
And now, now Merlin was in New York. He’d remembered from all those years ago and came to find Arthur. Or at least, that was what he wanted to believe. Merlin obviously still remembered him.   
Arthur leapt out of bed, scrambling to get dressed and wondering if, hoping that, he could find Merlin during the day. Arthur set his jaw. No matter what it took, he’d find his love again. After all, Merlin had spent time trying to find him.


	4. The Heart-to-Heart

Merlin had had another sleepless night because of the royal prat. And he was magnificently pissed off at Mordred.   
When he’d looked in the mirror that morning, he shouldn’t have been surprised by how dark the shadows were. They were darkened considerably. He hadn’t gone this long without sleep since his days in Camelot.   
Merlin strode across the room and looked out into the world. The streets were nearly empty and the sky was dark with clouds. Leaves blew in the strong breeze and when Merlin threw open the window, he smelled rain on the air. A storm was coming. Perfect, it’ll reflect my mood. Merlin thought to himself and chuckled at the idea. His hair whipped around his face but he found he didn’t care so much.   
“You’ll catch your death if you leave that window open.” Merlin’s head spun so fast he heard his neck pop. Standing in the street was Arthur himself.   
He had a deep blue coat on and his hair was ruffled. Merlin found it strange that he didn’t wear a hat, but then again, Arthur never did like things on his head except for a crown. His coat was open, revealing a light gray vest over a white button-up. He had a chain sticking out, likely to a pocket watch. Merlin smirked.  
“Maybe I want to catch my death. Have you ever thought about that?” Merlin teased.  
“It had crossed my mind, but I thought that perhaps, you’d want to hear what I have to say.” Arthur replied, smirking. Merlin cocked an eyebrow in what was hopefully a playful expression.  
“And what is it that you have to say, Mr. Pendragon?” Merlin played along. Arthur opened his mouth but quickly closed it again. “Right, then. If you have nothing to say, I’ll go back to catching my death.”  
“You still have the title, you know. Of the stupidest person I’ve ever met.” Arthur said, suddenly. It appeared that Arthur was full of surprises. Merlin recovered quicker than he expected.  
“Took you long enough to remember, dollophead.” Merlin quipped. Arthur smiled, close-lipped and slightly sad.  
“I never forgot. Listen, Merlin, there’s more.” Merlin definitely didn’t like Arthur’s tone. He’d heard that tone before and it never meant good news.  
“Well, come in. Or else we’ll both catch our deaths, and I don’t think Uther would be too happy about that.” Merlin said. Arthur’s face turned cold at the mention of Uther, so Merlin decided it would be best not to press it. Merlin came around to the doorway and opened it just before Arthur had the chance to.   
“Where’s a good place to talk?” Arthur asked.  
“For fun, the sunroom. For serious business, the library.” Merlin replied. Arthur looked straight into his eyes, seemingly seeing into Merlin’s head. “The library it is.”   
Merlin lead the blond to his library, filled to the brim with various books in various languages he’d acquired over his nearly 1500 years on earth. He sat in one of his plush red chairs, Arthur directly across from him.   
“My father wants you dead.” Arthur said, looking surprised he blurted it so suddenly. Merlin chuckled.  
“That’s not news, Arthur. He wants every sorcerer or warlock dead. I’m no exception.” Merlin said. He’d thought it was obvious.  
“He’s singled you out. He wants me to to kill you.” Arthur’s voice was rising in pitch with panic. Merlin sat back in his chair, resting his feet on the stool and pressed his fingertips together.  
“Will you?” He asked, simply, keeping all emotion out of his voice. Arthur looked at him, blankly.   
“Will I what?”  
“Kill me.” Merlin answered, simply. Arthur’s face gained the oddest expression of shock and horror.  
“Never! I’d never consider it for a second!” Arthur exclaimed   
“Well, that’s quite the good thing, then. I must say, I do enjoy living. But, if you were the one to kill me, I think I’d feel no resentment. If you were the one to, shall we say, bump me off, you obviously had good reasons.” Merlin said. Arthur paled at this statement and Merlin was tempted to give him a bucket, as he obviously was nauseated by the very had idea. “Besides, even though he likely doesn’t know my identity, only knows me as Emrys, Uther has never liked me.”  
“That’s not the point! If I don’t come back with results within the next week, he’ll get suspicious and come after you, himself. One way or another, you will be murdered in cold blood!” Arthur said, face tight.  
“Oh, that won’t happen. You see, you’re the only one I will allow to end my life. Everyone else is walking to their demise if they try.” Merlin said, shrugging. “Of course, if you don’t want me to, I won’t kill your father.” Arthur sat forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.  
“This is mad. This is completely ludicrous!”   
“I know. Most things tend to be that way in life. If they weren’t, we’d lead quite the boring existence, wouldn’t you agree?” Merlin said, more thinking aloud than anything else.   
Arthur lifted his head and sent Merlin an incredulous look, sitting back. He let out a breathy laugh.   
“Even now, after I’ve just told you I’ve been asked to kill you, you act completely ridiculous. Amazing, Merlin. Absolutely amazing.” Arthur said, some humor in his voice, still. Merlin grinned.  
“It’s a good portion of my charm, being lovably weird.” Merlin joked. Arthur’s face stayed happy for only a moment, it fell soon after.  
“What will you do if he finds you?” Arthur nearly whispered the question.  
“Try to hide, lay low for a bit. I may be strong, but Uther has numbers and I hate killing. I’ll avoid taking lives for as long as I can, but I’m not sure how long that will last. Until that time, I can keep up operations at the Ambrosia. Not one of Uther’s men can get in.” Merlin responded, mind working furiously.  
“I can get in.” Arthur pointed out. Merlin smiled.  
“You’re not really one of his men, are you?” He teased. Arthur seemed to ponder this. Silence stretched for what felt like hours until Arthur broke it once more.  
“How long have you been in New York?” Arthur inquired. Merlin had been dreading this conversation.  
“Around five years.” Merlin wanted to say it quietly so that Arthur wouldn’t hear, but that would get him nowhere. Arthur’s eyes darkened to the color of a stormy sea.  
“Why did you never come to see me?” The question was soft, intimidating.  
“I was terrified.” Merlin nearly whispered. He hadn’t realized that was the reason until that moment, so he was just as surprised as Arthur looked. Or, at least, had never put it into words.  
“Of what?”  
“Of what I would find. I was worried that perhaps you had…you had moved on without me. When I came to New York, I was still a country bumpkin. I had no idea if you’d even want to see me. If you’d found someone else or if you just didn’t care anymore. After all, New York is a fast paced city and change happens daily. How could I know if your affections for me hadn’t change? I was a coward, I admit. I just didn’t want to face the possibility of rejection.” Merlin said, trying to keep calm.  
Arthur stood from the chair and for a moment, Merlin thought he’d leave. But instead, he walked to Merlin’s chair and kneeled down beside him. He rested a hand on Merlin’s knee and Merlin felt a small shiver go through him. He hadn’t felt Arthur’s touch in ten years.  
“Know this, if my feelings for you ever change, I’ve lost my very mind. For a completely unfathomable reason, I find myself in love with you. I doubt that can change in five years, ten years, a thousand years, even if I wanted to.” Arthur proclaimed. Merlin almost laughed at the phrasing.   
Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and kissed Arthur. He’d missed this sensation as much as everything else about Arthur. Said man leaned into the touch and Merlin felt butterflies in his stomach.   
But then, not of his own free will, Merlin remembered the other reason why he hadn’t contacted Arthur and he pulled back. “What is it?” Arthur asked, breathless from the kiss.  
“Arthur, it has been ten years. I have changed dramatically. I’ve got blood on my hands that I don’t think I can wash away.” Merlin explained.  
“By God, you are more of an idiot than I thought. I’ve only spent about half of an hour here and I can tell that you have, indeed, changed. But not in the ways that matter, not in the ways that would make you a different person. When I told you you’d catch your death, you argued with me. If you weren’t still the boy who approached me nearly twenty years ago, you wouldn’t have done that. And isn’t that part of being in love? Learning to love new changes in a person and growing with them?” Arthur concluded. Merlin smiled.  
“When did you get this good with words? Last time I checked, you had problems forming full sentences.”  
“Oh, shut up.” Arthur pulled him in for another kiss.


	5. Hasty Departure

Arthur hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep. But here he was, waking in an absurdly comfortable bed with the sheets tangled around him.   
Rain pounded against the windows of the bedroom, casting a beautiful shadow onto the wooden floor. Just beneath the sound of the rain was the sound of piano music, drifting softly through the air. It was only then that Arthur realized Merlin was absent from his side.   
Their reconnecting had gone much better than expected, and Arthur had expected it to go well. Arthur sat up, slowly, making sure he wasn’t imagining the music.   
He got out of the bed and pulled on his trousers. He didn’t bother putting on a shirt. He walked down the halls, trying to make his feet be as silent as possible. As he followed the music, it grew louder.   
When he had come upon the top half of Merlin’s torso sticking out of a window earlier, he was surprised, to say the least. He had gone out to wander and found himself in Merlin’s district. What was even more surprising was the house he found Merlin in.   
When Arthur had met his lover, he’d been a poor orphan living in a small shack on his own. He’d obviously taken a step or two up in life.   
Arthur entered a room that was mostly empty, save for a black grand piano and Merlin on its bench. His long, pale fingers glided across the keys. Arthur could see they were still calloused from the field work he used to do, but they belonged to a musician, now.   
Merlin had always talked about wanting to learn to play an instrument and Arthur had wanted to help, but he hadn’t a musical bone in his body.   
Merlin’s eyes were closed, his face at ease. It was clear he’d played this melody many times before. The song spoke of sorrow and diluted hope. It was a song that could make the rest of a room silent from the opening notes.   
Arthur slid down against the doorframe, thankful that he had practice at being silent, and listened, watching intently as the one he loved played passionately.   
It was obvious Merlin had changed. He was a bit more self-assured and a bit more mature, but in little moments, he could see that he was still more or less the same. For one thing, he’d stopped tripping over his words. For the most part.   
It had shocked Arthur to his very core when he heard Merlin speaking so casually about his own death, but when he’d voiced his concerns about Arthur’s affections, he was suddenly fifteen again. They were suddenly in that forest, saying goodbye. Arthur knew it was foolish to want what they used to have as teenagers, but he knew it was just as foolish to think they couldn’t have anything. After all, Arthur had changed, too.   
The song came to a close and Merlin breathed a deep sigh, eyes still closed. When his lids slid open, they revealed the orbs of a vibrant cerulean, slightly glassy. He looked straight at Arthur and smiled. “I finally learned to play.”   
“You play wonderfully.” Arthur said, truthfully. Merlin quirked a brow, playfully.  
“My, my, my, Arthur Pendragon, was that a compliment?” The warlock teased.  
“Don’t get used to it.” Arthur said. Merlin laughed as Arthur stood, walking to sit beside him on the bench.   
Merlin had managed to put on a loose fitting shirt and trousers and his hair was damp, curling slightly. He leaned his head onto Arthur’s shoulder.   
“How did you get so successful?” Arthur asked, looking around.  
“A combination of the Ambrosia, a dead long-lost uncle, and my day job.” Merlin answered.  
“What is that? Your day job, I mean?” Arthur couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know everything about Merlin’s life.  
“I’m a professional pianist.” Merlin said, pride in his voice.  
“Really? How long have you been playing?” Arthur questioned, excitedly. Arthur was thrilled to hear Merlin had gone professional.  
“Six years.” Merlin replied. Arthur felt strangely proud of him. If all of his songs were played like the one he just heard, he knew that Merlin was very talented. He doubted the warlock even needed magic for this.   
Arthur wrapped his arm around Merlin’s shoulders.   
“Does that song happen to have a name?” Arthur queried.  
“No, not yet. It was the first song I wrote, but I still haven’t found the perfect name.” Merlin said, sighing. Arthur was surprised. He didn’t think Merlin had written it.   
“You will.” Arthur stated, confidently.  
Cutting off Merlin’s next sentence, a grandfather clock sounded from somewhere inside the house. It stopped its infernal clanging after three times. Arthur remembered his father had asked him to be at the house at four.   
“I have to leave.” Arthur almost startled himself with his own words. Merlin looked hurt and it broke Arthur’s heart. “I’m sorry. Were it my decision, I’d stay in your company all day and deep into the night. But, my father, he-” Merlin held up his hand to stop Arthur’s rambling.  
“Say no more. I understand.” Merlin said. Arthur reflected on that. Merlin very likely _did_ understand.  
“I’ll come back the moment I can. Or perhaps to the Ambrosia?” Arthur suggested. Merlin shook his head.   
“I won’t be there. I have a recital tonight.” Merlin responded.   
Arthur hated to miss it. He would’ve liked to see Merlin perform.

 

Arthur sat on an armchair while his father paced. They were waiting for Morgana to join them.  
When she swept into the room, Uther sat down, seemingly calm. Arthur could tell he was excited, and that wasn’t a good sign.   
“Good, you’re both here! I have made plans for tonight and would like if the both of you would come with me.” Uther declared.   
“What are the plans? If we’re to agree, surely we must know what we’re agreeing to.” Morgana asked, excitement laced in her voice.  
“I have three seats reserved at a recital from an up-and-coming musician. He has been very secretive and rumors say no one knows what he looks like until you have seen him perform.” Uther replied. Arthur’s heart froze.  
“What type of musician is he?” Arthur asked, attempting to keep his voice as blank as possible.  
“A pianist.” Uther answered.   
This was bad. This was impossibly bad. Merlin’s words were ringing in his head. _“Uther has never liked me.”_ That was an understatement, Arthur thought.   
Uther _loathed_ Merlin with every fiber of his being. If he were to learn it was Merlin performing, Arthur wasn’t sure how he’d react, he just knew it would end horribly for Merlin.   
There seemed to be no winning in this scenario, only the fact that he would see Merlin after all. He somewhat wished that wasn’t the case.


	6. The Recital

Merlin straightened his bow-tie and scraped a quick hand through his curls. He had to look slightly different as the Pianist, and slightly different as the society man that no one had any idea how he was rich.  
He took a deep breath to steady himself. Even though he had done several shows already, they were still nerve-wracking until he started getting into the flow of the music.  
“Merlin?” He turned at the sound of Mordred’s voice.  
“How do I look?” Merlin asked, turning slightly and grinning. Mordred laughed.  
“Not like Emrys.” Mordred replied.  
“Excellent!”  
“It’s time to start.” Mordred told him. Merlin nodded and walked out onto the stage. The audience began clapping. The grand piano was waiting for him and he ached to get near it.  
The theater was large, with a stage in the direct center. Most of the audience was around the stage, but the truly elite were in the boxes high above. Operas were held here, occasionally, but tonight was Merlin’s night.  
A quick scan of the audience was beneficial. He estimated around three hundred and fifty people turned up, perhaps four hundred. He had become a bit famous. His eyes grazed right over one of the boxes but a glimpse of something caught his attention. A head of golden hair. _Arthur_.  
Merlin was amazed. He thought Arthur wasn’t coming. Until he saw Uther and Morgana sharing the box and understood. It was Uther’s idea.  
Merlin put on a winning smile, mostly real because of the sight of his lover. He walked up to the bench and the audience fell silent. He launched into the song Arthur had heard him play earlier that day and his eyes fluttered shut. His fingers ran over the keys, the comforting feel letting him settle into an easy rhythm, one he’d repeated countless times. He allowed himself to retreat into his thoughts.  
He was glad Arthur was here. Just knowing he was there allowed the blond’s presence to fill the room, wrapping all around Merlin. It didn’t matter that there were many other eyes on him.  
Before he knew it, the song had ended and his fingers stopped, hovering under an inch above the keys. He reopened his eyes. Whatever was happening around him didn’t matter. He couldn’t hear any of it. He waited a moment, the moment he knew he was supposed to, before starting his next song.  
Distantly, he was aware something was wrong. What it was, he had no idea. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a disturbance in one of the unoccupied boxes. His eyes darted to the box, his fingers working mechanically. Ah.  
Someone here to kill him. It happened more than some would think, but usually only when he was Emrys. Not when he was the Pianist. Still, he knew what to do. Just as he was about to make the gun stop working, he saw yet another movement.  
His heart stopped for a moment, when he recognized what was happening. Arthur had seen the would-be assassin and now was doing the most idiotic thing he could do. Saving Merlin. Surely he must realize that Merlin could take care of it! Then again, Merlin had been rather subtle about noticing it.  
Merlin closed his eyes intentionally to hide the flash of gold and made the gun break. Merlin refocused on the recital, knowing that if he did anything, he’d cause a panic. _‘Mordred!’_ He reached out in his mind.  
_‘What is it? What’s wrong?’_ Mordred called back and suddenly Merlin was incredibly thankful that reincarnation hadn’t made him lose the ability.  
_'Assassin up in box five. Arthur’s fighting them right now, the bloody clotpole. Can you help him out?'_ Merlin pleaded  
_‘Of course I can. Meet me backstage, I’ll have Arthur with me.’_ With that, the connection split off and Merlin felt his shoulders relax. Mordred wouldn’t let Arthur get killed. Not again, at least. 

 

Arthur had panicked when he saw the gunner. It was by pure chance that he looked up from Merlin’s captivating performance and had seen the man loading the gun. He’d made an excuse to Morgana and ran off. He was stunned for only a moment when the assassin had tried to shoot him but the gun didn’t work, then he realized that Merlin must have seen them and wanted to hit himself.  
Of _course_ Merlin had seen. Here was a man who could put up protection spells so strong that you couldn’t even see a place if you meant any harm.  
The fight was brief, Mordred had interrupted and used magic. Mordred had quickly healed Arthur’s minor injuries and righted his appearance before Arthur made it back to his father and sister.  
He’d watched the entire concert and was once more mesmerized by the passion with which Merlin played. He thought he had seen an amazing performance in Merlin’s home, but this…this was spectacular. But perhaps Arthur was biased. He didn’t think that was the entirety of it, judging by the three minute standing ovation and the tears in Uther’s eyes. Morgana was openly weeping. The more and more Arthur saw of Merlin, the more astonished he was by him.  
Mordred had come to retrieve him after the show, saying that ‘the Pianist’ would like to speak with him. Something Arthur truly didn’t doubt.  
Now, Arthur sat in a chair in a room he identified as a backstage waiting room, likely for family and friends to wait.  
Merlin stepped into the room and nearly dashed to his side. “Are you hurt?” Merlin demanded.  
“I was, but Mordred healed me. It was minor, anyways. Magic truly is incredible.” Arthur replied. Merlin seemed elated at those words. “I saw your performance. I could barely look away. You’re quite gifted.”  
“Don’t try to praise your way out of this. Why did you go after him?” Merlin snapped.  
“I panicked. I could only think about what would happen to you. The thought made me a bit mental and I couldn’t control myself. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.” Arthur responded. Merlin’s cheeks burned bright red and heaved a sigh.  
“I suppose I understand. I would’ve done the same thing.” Merlin agreed. Arthur smiled and clasped Merlin’s hand.  
“I’m glad you’re unhurt. I think he was aiming for your head.” Arthur said, sincerely. Merlin winced.  
“Where is he?” Merlin asked.  
“I’m not sure. Mordred took him.” Arthur replied, shrugging.  
“Then we’ll find out why he wanted to kill me.” Merlin said, simply. The words sent shivers down Arthur’s spine. How anyone could want Merlin dead would forever be beyond him.  
Their time together could only last so long. Soon enough, Arthur was joining Uther and Morgana. He managed to explain away why Merlin had wanted to see him, though he was still unsure as to how he went about it. On their ride home, Uther was the first to speak.  
“There’s something about him. I feel as though I’ve seen him before.” Uther said. Arthur sent a quick glance to Morgana and her eyes said all he needed to know. She knew he was Emrys.  
“Perhaps. New York is a big city and people have lives. Maybe he’s bumped into you on the street?” Morgana suggested and Arthur was immensely grateful to her.  
“Maybe. But it feels like something more than that…I’m sure it will come to me.” If only one word could describe Arthur’s mental state when his father said that, it was pandemonium. Yes, he mused, pandemonium was quite a nice word.  
He had to warn Merlin as soon as possible that his father was onto him. “Arthur, have you any new leads on Emrys?” Uther asked, making Arthur’s heart stop. Once again, Morgana rushed to his aid.  
“Oh, let’s not talk about business tonight! It’s been so lovely, let’s not spoil it.” Morgana said, expertly hiding her nerves to anyone but Arthur, who could recognize them.  
“You are absolutely right. We will discuss this in the morning.” Arthur fought hard not to let out an audible sigh of relief. For now, he had time to think up a perfect excuse. He just wondered how long he could keep up the guise of intent.


	7. The Assassin

Merlin strode purposefully to his dressing room where he found Mordred. The former druid was glaring daggers at a man tied to a chair, the would-be assassin. The assassin was struggling and writhing against his bonds, but they were magical. He wouldn’t be able to get out of them until Mordred let him. He looked up as Merlin entered, fear evident in his gray eyes.   
“Hello.” Merlin purred. He’d done things like this before. He had the system memorized. “Care to tell me why you want me dead?” The assassin spat in Merlin’s face.   
Merlin sighed, cleaning off his face. He had to admit, magic was among the most useful things he had.   
“And I asked so nicely. Let’s try this again.” Merlin conjured up a dagger and thrust it at the man’s throat, stopping just a hair’s breadth away from his Adam’s apple. “Care to tell me why you want me dead?” Merlin added in his sweetest voice. “This dagger is enchanted, you know. Any cut, any tiny little cut I make, will never heal. Think about that for a minute. A tiny pinprick could kill you.” The man’s eyes widened in terror.  
“I-I was payed! I’ve got nothin’ against you!” The assassin spluttered.  
“Who payed you?” Merlin asked, dangerously.  
“I don’t know! Just, a woman! Said I had to kill Emrys!” The assassin rushed out. Merlin rocked back on his heels, thinking. He knew who it was, _obviously_ he knew who it was. Morgause, former enemy of Camelot and owner of a rival speakeasy. He looked at Mordred, who shared his comprehension without having to link their thoughts.  
Merlin made the dagger vanish and gestured for Mordred to follow him outside. The door closed with a click that rang out its finality.   
“That dagger wasn’t enchanted. I’ve seen it before. I’ve accidentally been cut by it before.” Mordred pointed out.  
“No, but did he have to know that?” Merlin asked, smirking. Mordred simply laughed.  
“You are a fascinating person, Merlin.”  
“I like to think so, yes.” He grinned at Mordred. “It’s definitely Morgause. She’s up to something. It’s all been petty before, but this…she’s serious. She’s never made an attempt on one of our lives before.” Merlin said. Mordred nodded, deep in thought. “She’ll be coming after you, next. She’ll see soon enough that her assassination attempt didn’t work.” Merlin let the end of the sentence hang in the air.  
“I know.” Mordred replied, quietly. Merlin nodded and turned away. “Merlin?” Mordred called. Merlin looked back over his shoulder. “Be alert. Morgause is nothing if not persistent.”  
“Thank you. But you know just as well as I do that I can’t die.” And with that, Merlin strode down the hall and out into the rain.

 

Arthur paced in his bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth. If nothing else, the movement was soothing.   
What in the hell could he say to his father about Emrys? It was nearing dawn and Arthur realized he hadn’t even sat down all night. He was tempted to just throw his arms up and scream.   
He was about to do just that when he heard a small tapping on his window. Writing it off as just the tree in the fierce winds, he ignored it. Until it came again, more insistently.   
He looked out the window and saw Merlin. The warlock grinned at Arthur. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Merlin was tapping on a third floor window. “You idiot.” Arthur grumbled to himself and opened the window.   
Merlin rolled in, sopping wet, and gave him the goofiest grin. He wore a loose blue button-up and a brown blazer, something that looked very odd, yet familiar. “What the hell are you doing?” Arthur hissed.  
“I wanted to see you.” Merlin replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  
“So you went out, in the rain, walked all the way from your house to mine, and then climbed up to my window God knows how just to see me?” Arthur asked.  
“More like went out into the rain, teleported to your house, then levitated. Magic is really quite useful. Still got a bit wet, though.” Merlin said, running a hand through his hair, sheepishly.  
“A _bit_?! You’re soaked to the bone!” Arthur kept himself from shouting. Merlin’s grin turned to a smirk.  
“Why, Arthur Pendragon. Are you concerned about my wellbeing?” Merlin teased. Arthur was deeply concerned, but it did him no good to say so.  
“I’m concerned about the floor. It’s wood, it’ll rot.” Arthur replied, deadpan. Merlin’s face dropped into a pout.  
“Why must you hurt me like this, Arthur?” Merlin pouted. He waved his hand and suddenly, he was dry. “I just thought you’d like to know who sent the assassin.” Arthur felt his shoulders tense.  
“Who sent him?” Arthur demanded, ready to kill.  
“Her name is Morgause.” Merlin said. Arthur felt all the wind knocked out of him.   
He was certain he’d never heard the name before, but he still felt a stab of fear at the mention of her name. In the back of his mind, he saw the face of a blonde woman in chainmail and that infernal sword in the stone. He was certain he hadn’t had any whiskey, what caused images like these before.   
“Arthur? What’s wrong?” Merlin asked, concerned, snapping Arthur out of his slump. Arthur cleared his throat.  
“Nothing, nothing’s wrong.” Arthur replied. How could he tell Merlin he’d been having visions of a sword in a stone without branding himself as a madman?  
“Arthur.” Merlin said, in a tone that spoke of his disbelief. Arthur couldn’t slide this under the rug.  
“Alright, I’ve been having…strange visions. They come at odd times and are almost always unconnected.” Arthur admitted, reluctantly. Merlin’s brows furrowed in thought.  
“Like what?” Merlin asked.   
“Like…a sword struck fast in a stone, certain people in chainmail, a crown, a castle being burned, and a lake.” Arthur said, now unable to stop himself. Merlin looked as though someone had struck him. He opened and closed his mouth several times, eyes wide. “I knew I shouldn’t’ve told you, you must think me mental!” Arthur exclaimed, throwing his hands up.  
“No, no, I know you’re not mad.” Merlin soothed. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a ring. He took Arthur’s hand and pressed the object into his palm. Arthur felt a shiver go through him. Though the metal was cool against his skin, he was certain that wasn’t why he had shivered. It was the intensity of Merlin’s cerulean gaze. “Turn this ring around your index finger the next time you have one of these visions. I’ll be there in a heartbeat.” Merlin paused for a second. “Don’t use it before you have a vision. I am not at your beck-and-call.” Arthur raised his eyebrows.  
“Are you sure?” Arthur joked. Merlin rolled his eyes.  
“I’m sure, you bloody prat.” Merlin replied without missing a beat. A bit of tension slipped from Arthur’s shoulders when he saw Merlin was back in his joking mood. He couldn’t stand it when Merlin was strained. It made Arthur worry irrationally. But, he supposed, that was what being in love made you. Completely irrational.   
Arthur placed his hand gently on Merlin’s shoulder and felt that he should say something. But, when he needed them most, his words escaped him and he faltered. All he could do was draw Merlin close to him and embrace him. He ran his hand through Merlin’s hair.   
“It has been a very long day.” Arthur settled on. It wasn’t what he had wanted to say, or what he had meant to say, but that’s what came out. The tongue-lashing going on inside his head was very unpleasant, but he felt it was warranted.   
It was true, he reflected. Finding Merlin earlier that morning seemed like it had happened a month ago.  
“Indeed it has been. You should go to sleep.” Merlin said.   
Arthur didn’t want to sleep. He wanted nothing more than just to stand there with Merlin in his arms. He was hardly surprised to realize that was what he wanted with his life. Everything else was negotiable, as long as Merlin was there.   
Merlin seemed to read his thoughts precisely and smiled. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll stay with you, for as long as I possibly can.” Merlin said. Arthur didn’t voice the thoughts running amok in his mind. They all sounded petulant, as if he were a five-year-old who didn’t want to share his favorite toy.   
So he kept his mouth shut and pulled Merlin onto his bed. Merlin made a strange, surprised sound, somewhere between a squawk and a yelp and Arthur couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his throat.   
“Stay with me.” Arthur whispered into the crook of Merlin’s neck, once his laughter had died down.  
“Always.”


	8. War

When Arthur finally got to sleep, he dreamt of strange things. A dragon flying above a castle, a large round table, and men in capes. He’d faintly recognized one as the bouncer from the Ambrosia.   
When he’d awoken, his arms were empty. Merlin had left. Arthur understood, of course, that Merlin couldn’t be here. But it still hurt. More of that damned irrationality.   
He stood up and got ready, only one thought on his mind. His father expected answers as to why he hadn’t gotten any leads on Emrys. This part wasn’t particularly true, he knew all about Emrys. But that would be as good as killing Merlin, and Arthur couldn’t do that. So, instead of coming up with something plausible, he just decided to lie in the maddest way possible and hope everything would work out for the best. A voice in the back of his head that suspiciously sounded like Merlin called him an idiot.   
He walked down the stairs and to the breakfast table. He wasn’t sure anything looked remotely good, but he ate a few pieces of bacon and an egg. He knew he’d hate himself later if he didn’t eat anything. “Good morning, Arthur.” Arthur looked up as his father came in.  
“Good morning, Father. Does the day find you well?” Arthur asked, cordially.   
“Yes, I believe it does.” Uther replied. He sat down without another word and picked up his paper. After a few moments of tense silence, Uther spoke. “How is the search for Emrys?”   
The food inside Arthur’s mouth turned to ash, yet he persistently tried to force it down.  
“Difficult. He’s a powerful sorcerer and covers his tracks well. I have nothing to report yet, but I believe I have a lead. I plan to pursue it over the next few days.” Arthur lied, thinking on his feet. Time slowed down and the only sound Arthur could hear was the rapid beating of his heart. Would Uther believe it?  
“Excellent! In only three days, you’ve already found a lead. Do not fail me, Arthur.” Uther said, warningly. Arthur had to fight hard against a sigh of relief.  
“Of course, Father. I have no intention of failing you.” Arthur replied.  
“Very good.” Uther said, curtly.   
The rest of breakfast was passed in tense silence before Arthur could bear it no more and excused himself.   
He walked out of the house, no coat or hat, not caring about the chill that entered his body. He started walking, God knew where to. until he ran into someone. Quite literally. If he hadn’t had years of practicing, he would’ve lost his balance much like the man he ran into.   
“Sorry, mate, I wasn’t-Princess!” The man started an apology but bailed out upon seeing Arthur’s face. “It’s you!” The man exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “I saw you at-” He cut himself off and Arthur recognized the bouncer from the Ambrosia. The name came to him before he could even begin to comprehend how.   
“Gwaine.” Arthur said, still unsure how he knew it. The man’s face lit up like a child on Christmas.  
“You remember me, then?” Gwaine asked, hopefully.  
“From your workplace, yes, though I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I must have heard your name in passing.” Arthur responded. At that, Gwaine’s face fell, though Arthur was unsure why.  
“I…oh.” Gwaine mumbled, incoherently. “Sorry. Don’t know what came over me.” He pasted on a smile that was obviously fake and strained. “Well, I’m just out to see Merlin. You do know who that is, right?”  
“Emrys, yes.” Arthur hissed. Even if the street was completely empty, he still didn’t want anyone to have a chance at hearing. Perhaps he was a bit paranoid, but it was better to be paranoid than accidentally expose his lover.  
“Good. If you’d like to see him, I’ll walk with you.” Gwaine said, like he knew something else was going on.  
Arthur bit back a retort. Truthfully, he wanted to see Merlin. He knew it was risky, but Merlin was like a drug to him. He couldn’t get enough, no matter how hard he tried.   
Arthur simply nodded and fell into step with the roguish man. Arthur was suddenly struck with a thought. He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, harshly, to Gwaine.  
“It just occurs to me. Why does Merlin have a password? His speakeasy is magically barred, no one can get in that means ill intent and, I’m venturing a guess here, if he doesn’t want them to.” Arthur asked, lowly. Gwaine grimaced.  
“Merlin has had some bad past experiences. Any precaution he thinks he may not need, he takes. Says something about that the last time he didn’t take some precautions, it ended horribly.” Gwaine shrugged at his conclusion, but Arthur could see he knew more than he let on.   
They walked in relative silence until they reached Merlin’s house. Arthur knew something was wrong. Something felt off.   
He walked up to the door and knocked on the door. No answer. He tried again. And again. Still nothing. He shared a worried look with Gwaine. Arthur didn’t know anything about the man. but he knew they agreed on one thing: Merlin.   
Arthur turned the knob and was surprised to find it unlocked. He pushed open the door.   
“Merlin?” Arthur called.   
The man he was calling for walked out into the foyer where Arthur stood, his face gaunt and eyes hollow. But what worried Arthur the most was the blood splatters on his rumpled clothes. “What happened?” Arthur demanded, worried out of his mind. Merlin, for the first time, looked at Arthur and the blonde was able to see just what was wrong.   
Merlin had shattered. From the time he left Arthur’s room to this very moment, something inside of him had broken.  
“Experiencing the same grief twice is a unique experience and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies, let alone you two. You’d think after the first time, it’d be a bit less of a blow.” Merlin said and laughed without humor. “Oh, you’d be wrong. I certainly was.” Arthur was baffled, but Gwaine seemed to understand.  
“Freya?” Gwaine suggested. Merlin nodded, solemnly. Gwaine nudged Arthur forward and, surprisingly, he got the cue.   
He reached forward and hugged Merlin. He hadn’t the faintest idea of who ‘Freya’ was, but she was obviously someone important. Merlin nuzzled into Arthur and he could feel his heart breaking when he heard soft sobs coming from the warlock. He heard Gwaine walk away, but it was as if he were hearing it through a veil.   
He wasn’t precisely sure how long he stood there, rubbing circles into his beloved’s back, but he didn’t quite care. When Merlin finally pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy, but it was an improvement from hollow and haunted.  
“I’m sorry.” Merlin mumbled. Arthur was once again baffled, but for completely different reasons.. How could Merlin be sorry? Sensing his confusion, Merlin added: “About your shirt. I sort of ruined it.”  
“I don’t give a damn about my shirt, I just want you to be okay.” The words slipped out before Arthur could catch them and he instantly felt stupid. But it was obviously the correct thing to say, because Merlin smiled.   
“I will be. It’s just always hard to get over your first love.” Merlin said, ruefully.   
A pang of sickening jealousy went through Arthur and he mentally cursed at himself. He’d never learned if he was Merlin’s first love, and he never asked. He’d always assumed that to be the case and that the feeling was mutual. But, Arthur didn’t ask so Merlin didn’t say.   
“C’mon, I think I’ve got some nice tea you and Gwaine would like. I see you met on the way here?” Merlin said, bouncing back. Arthur nodded, mutely.   
He followed Merlin to a room where Gwaine already was sitting comfortably in a chair. The sunroom Merlin had mentioned, Arthur realized belatedly.   
Gwaine sent Merlin a meaningful look, to which Merlin nodded. Again, Arthur felt envy rear its ugly head, but again, he stomped it down. This was unbecoming behavior, and he cared too much about Merlin to ruin it by being a jealous prat.   
“You two need to be careful.” Merlin said. At this, both men were confused. “An assassination attempt failed on me. Now, they’re going after everyone I care about. I plan on warning Gwen, Lancelot, and Mordred later. Perceval was there when it…” Merlin swallowed, thickly. “When it happened.” _When Freya died._ Arthur filled in the blanks. He didn’t know who Lancelot and Perceval were, yet there was a nagging sensation at the back of his mind like it had been when he met Merlin.  
“So what does this mean?” Gwaine asked. Merlin sighed.  
“It means…Gentleman, I believe I’ve entered into a war.”


	9. The Lament of Merlin

It made no sense to Merlin, why Freya was always the first to die. Though he was in love with someone else, he’d always love her as deeply as he did in Camelot. The only thing that did make sense was that he had to protect everyone he cared about.   
“So, how did this feud with Morgause come about?” Arthur asked, sitting forward in his chair.  
“Opened a speakeasy right across the street from mine. But mine is more successful, so she’s bitter. Plus, she really hates me. Though it was for good reasons, I wronged her in the past.” Far, _far_ , in the past. “I don’t know why she can’t let it go. Mordred did, and we’re on very good terms.” Merlin wondered aloud. Arthur shifted at the mention of Mordred. Merlin suspected that he didn’t even realize he’d moved.   
Despite what Mordred did, Arthur’s subconscious was always going to be a little uncomfortable at the thought of Mordred and trusting him. Merlin looked at Arthur closely. Arthur caught his eye and shifted again. This interaction didn’t go unnoticed. Gwaine burst out laughing and Arthur blushed. Merlin sighed, but with a smile on his face.   
Here was the old interactions. Though the reincarnations had changed Merlin’s two favorite idiots, they were still his idiots.   
Gwaine stood up, abruptly.   
“Need to get to my day job! See you later, Merlin. Farewell, princess!” Gwaine strode out of the room and out the door. Merlin turned to Arthur.  
“So, you’re back again.” He mused.  
“I am. It has been ten years, I’m going to want to see you every second that’s possible.” Arthur said.  
“Did you drink something before you came here?” Merlin teased.  
“Shut up, _Mer_ lin.” Arthur shot back. Merlin grinned.  
“There it is.” Merlin said. He let his face fall. “I want to spend time with you, too, as much as I can, but I can’t right now.”  
“And why not?” Arthur asked. Merlin looked into Arthur’s eyes but the other did not shift this time.  
“There are some parts of my life I don’t want you to see.” Merlin replied.  
“Like what?” Arthur queried.  
“You’re too persistent for your own good, I hope you know.” Merlin scolded. He sat beside Arthur on a nearby chair and pulled it closer to Arthur’s. “I don’t want you to see the blood on my hands.”  
“Merlin…” Arthur began.  
“There’s going to be an attack on my life. And the lives of people I love, including you. You’ll be safe at your house, being the son of a mobster. But if you stay here…you’ll see me in a state I don’t want to show anyone. Please, Arthur.” Merlin pleaded. Arthur pressed a quick kiss to Merlin’s lips and stood.   
“I’m not happy about it, but I trust you, Merlin.” Arthur said. It was an immense relief, but incredibly out of character.  
“Thank you.” Merlin said. Arthur smiled, weakly, and walked out of the house. Merlin sighed and sat back against his chair.   
He envied Arthur. He didn’t have to do what Merlin was about to. “Alright, Morgause. Let’s talk.” 

 

Arthur opened the door to his home and saw his father waiting for him. Fear seized his heart. “Arthur, good. I wanted to tell you you’re off the Emrys case.” Uther said. Arthur’s eyes went wide.  
“I’m…what?” Arthur asked, dumbfounded. If he was off the Emrys case, he couldn’t cover for Merlin anymore.  
“Off the Emrys case. I got an outside informant today, someone who knows how to deal with magic. They found Emrys. I should never have thrown you into this case until you were trained to deal with magic. For that, I apologize.” Uther said. Arthur felt a tendril of disgust wrap around his stomach.   
He didn’t know how his father had convinced himself magic was evil. Arthur distinctly remembered Merlin making flowers grow in the forest back home, small but brightly colored in reds, blues, whites, and purples. How could anything like that be completely evil? Arthur swallowed his pride.  
“Yes, Father.” Arthur agreed.  
“By the way, I don’t want you going to see that pianist again.” Uther added. That surprised Arthur immensely.  
“May I ask why?” Arthur recovered himself enough to ask.  
“I recognized him. That grubby boy from back in England. What was his name? Melvin? Martin?” Uther searched for the name.  
“Merlin.” Arthur said, jaw tight and barely controlling his hiss. He didn’t like where this was going.  
“Yes, Merlin! He was a bad influence on you, and I do not want that for you.” Uther concluded. That was when Arthur snapped.  
“A bad influence?! How?! Because I was kinder?! Because he made me care about other people?!” Arthur shouted.  
“You only have to worry about yourself and your family and that is no way to talk to me!” Uther snapped. Arthur began to see red at this point.  
“I will talk to you however I please! And if you honestly believe that you only have to worry about yourself, than you are short-sighted and selfish! Every action impacts everyone else and if Merlin is a bad influence for teaching me that, then I will gladly take the bad influence!” Arthur was resisting the urge to scream from frustration.  
“This is exactly why we left England.” Uther growled. The revelation hit Arthur hard.  
“We moved from England…because I was friends with someone poor?” Arthur asked, suddenly very quiet.  
“You need not have any care for the poor! How many times do I have to tell you this?! You need only worry about yourself!” Uther shouted. Arthur got a flash of a vision. His father in a crown.  
“You never have to tell me again, your majesty.” Arthur spat and turned on his heel. He walked out into the chill and stomped down the street. He was hit with another vision, all of a sudden.  
His father standing on the balcony of a castle, ordering an execution. He expected the visions to stop, but they kept coming. The knights… _Lancelot_. Where was Lancelot? And Gwaine. He had to find Gwaine. And Merlin. Oh God, _Merlin_. It went back further, further than Arthur could imagine. Merlin, who called him an ass. Merlin, who protected him at every turn. Merlin, his best friend and his love. And Arthur remembered it all. Camelot and Morgause and Mordred and everything.   
He set off at a run, passing Mordred.   
“Arthur?” Mordred called after him.  
“They found Merlin!” Arthur shouted back, hoping Mordred got the message. Soon enough, Mordred was following him. He knew what would happen if they got to Merlin before Arthur did. Arthur would find the warlock dead. 

 

Merlin leaned against his desk, waiting for Morgause to arrive. They needed to settle this once and for all.   
His door slammed open from downstairs and he heard a few sets of footsteps bound up the stairs. The door to his study burst open and several men in dark suits poured in. They were all carrying rather large guns.   
“Problem, gents?” Merlin asked, casually.   
_Bang! Bang! Bang!_


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur burst into the house. Finding the door open was a horrible sign.   
The interior was in disarray. Torn tapestries likely centuries old, furniture overturned.   
He bounded up the stairs, Mordred hot on his heels and looked into a room that appeared to be a study.   
“No, no, no, no. Merlin!” Arthur shouted. This was all wrong, all wrong. It couldn’t be happening.   
Merlin was on the floor, limbs twisted in unnatural ways and several bullet wounds. Blood pooled around him and his eyes were only barely open.   
“Merlin!” Arthur dashed to the warlock’s side and brought his head into his lap, stroking the warlock’s cheek. “Merlin, stay with me. C’mon, stay awake.” He urged. He forgot Mordred was even there. The only one he cared about was the dying man. “Don’t you dare die!” Merlin gave him a weak smile.  
“Can’t die, ‘thur.” He slurred but Arthur got the meaning.   
“Merlin, I remember. I remember everything!” Arthur said.  
“Arthur.” Merlin said, cutting Arthur off. His eyes were clear, but switching rapidly between molten gold and crystalline blue. “Just…just hold me…” Arthur felt a dash of panic. That was what he said when he died in Merlin’s arms all those years ago.   
Nevertheless, he pulled Merlin close. Merlin’s hand reached for Arthur’s shirt and it twisted into a fist. The fist tightened as Merlin started screaming in pure agony.   
“Merlin?!” Arthur exclaimed, worry tearing at him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and tensed, hunching protectively over the screaming Merlin.  
“Arthur, it’s normal. He’s expelling the bullets.” Mordred said, calmly.  
“Using magic?” Arthur questioned. Mordred shook his head. Arthur, seeing that he was going to get no more answers out of Mordred, turned back to Merlin.   
He was writhing in pain, gasping for air. Arthur felt helpless. Like his life was pointless if he couldn’t help the one person he felt like helping. All he could do was whisper comforting words, hoping they’d reach Merlin. “It’s okay, you’ll be okay…I’m here, I’m here…I’ll stay right here…” He whispered, stroking Merlin’s hair. With each scream, Arthur felt his heart fracture a little bit more.   
After what felt like an eternity, Merlin’s cries finally turned to small whimpers. There were five loud _plinks_ , going off louder than gunshots in Arthur’s brain. Merlin’s breathing evened out, little by little, and his whimpers quieted.   
“It’s time to go.” Mordred’s voice broke the oppressive silence. Arthur looked up at him. “I can mask our presence and slow his bleeding temporarily while we move. We can’t stay here.” Mordred explained. Arthur saw the sense in the argument and remembered that Mordred had magic.   
At the moment, he was incredibly glad of the existence of magic in a now trusted ally. He still couldn’t forget the moment Mordred killed him, but if Merlin trusted him, Arthur would too.  
“Where will we go?” Arthur ask, gingerly picking up his lover and rising to his feet. Mordred attempted a smile then thought better of it.  
“My house, of course. After we’re there, I’ll assemble the knights.” Mordred answered. Arthur nodded. By now, the sun was setting below the horizon and all Arthur could think while he and Mordred dashed through the streets was:  
 _This has been a very long week._

 

Mordred watched from the doorway as Arthur wrung out the cloth and pressed it to Merlin’s head. He’d always seen a strange tenderness in the pair back in Camelot, but never as raw as now. They’d always hidden behind the mask of propriety, but it was always there, affection lurking, thinly veiled. But now? The mask was flung away, leaving just Arthur staring at Merlin like he’d hung the moon and colored the sky.   
Mordred suddenly felt like he was looking in on something utterly private and turned away. He strode out into the night and before he knew it, he was outside the Ambrosia Club.   
Without Merlin, the club was vulnerable. The door was torn off its hinges and Mordred regarded it, sadly. He expected to find it this way. With the wards down, it was bound to be ransacked by either Morgause or Uther.   
He stepped inside and felt like crying at the scene. Merlin had worked so hard to bring the place into being and make it a safe haven. Now it was all wrong.   
Tables were turned over, liquid was pouring out of broken glasses in buckets, everything looked a bit charred, chairs were broken into splintering pieces, and there were several blood splatters on the wall. But none of that matched up to the bodies strewn across the floor. A shoot-out. Mordred felt a hot spike of grief and leaned against the wall.   
He quickly shook himself out of the stupor and searched the club. In one of the vacant rooms, a small group of people were huddled into a circle. Gwaine, Lancelot, Gwen, Morgana, and Perceval.   
Perceval was the first to notice Mordred, but he said nothing. He had a piece of cloth tied around his leg, slowly staining scarlet. Gwen’s hair was messy, with pieces of glass stuck in it, Morgana was bleeding from multiple cuts on her arms, Gwaine was pressing something presumably cold to his hand, which was burnt and distorted slightly, and Lancelot’s leg was slightly askew. They were broken.   
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.” Mordred said. They all looked at him, confusedly. He had just as much an idea as to why he apologized as them. In truth, he only knew he was so terribly sorry for something.   
He swiped ferociously at his watering eyes and set to work. He was going to be exhausted by the end of this, but he knew it was worth it. He kneeled beside Perceval and slowly took off the stained cloth. He felt the magic surge beneath his fingertips as he pushed the bullet out of Perceval’s leg. The former knight groaned but didn’t move.   
“What happened?” Mordred asked, voice only just wavering. He already knew what they’d say, but he still wanted to hear it.  
“Men came into the bar and started shooting. We all started running around, it was chaos. I don’t remember much of what happened.” Perceval began.  
“They broke the fire glasses and the bar started burning. Someone put it out, but Gwaine got burned a bit saving me. Someone had grabbed my hair and they were about to shoot me.” Gwen continued. “Lancelot came after me, but they broke his leg. They shot the glass to pieces, the shards flew off and cut Morgana. She and I helped these three into a spare room and we locked the door. The men broke off the lock but left before they found out where we were.” Gwen added. Mordred nodded, absorbing her story. Merlin was not going to be happy.   
After he stitched together Perceval’s wound, he moved to Lancelot. The next hour was a blur of healing. He led the group back to his house, eyes drooping and and limbs sagging. When he finally got them home, he collapsed onto his bed and passed out immediately.

 

When Merlin awoke, it was to an unfamiliar bedroom and an aching body.   
He slowly raised himself up, much to the protestations of his torso. He squinted against the glare of the sun coming in from the window.   
The last 24 hours came crashing back to him and he struggled to breathe through the memories. He remembered getting shot five times, Arthur’s blurry face above him, eyes leaking tears the man likely didn’t even know he was shedding. He remembered the soft words spoken to him, calming and tender. He remembered bouncing against Arthur’s body as they ran through New York and a cool cloth against his forehead.   
Merlin got out of the bed, wanting nothing more than to stay in it, and stumbled. He hobbled to the wall and opened the door. His journey down the hall was agonizingly long, but it payed off when he heard voices talking quietly in the room directly before him. He clutched his stomach and waited.   
“How many casualties?” Arthur asked. In Merlin’s experience, the word ‘casualties’ coming from Arthur’s mouth was never good.   
“Fifteen, give or take.” Mordred replied, somberly. Merlin pushed open the door, soundlessly.  
“What happened?” He asked, voice hoarse but resounding, ringing through the air. Arthur spun around and looked a mix of worried and relieved.   
“Merlin!” he exclaimed. He darted to Merlin’s side and supported him against his side. Merlin let himself slump against his lover, glad for the comfort. Arthur moved him to sit on a sofa. “Are you alright?”  
“I feel like someone took a hammer to my chest twenty times. What happened?” Merlin repeated. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath beside him. Merlin surveyed the room.   
Everyone seemed well enough. Lancelot was limping a bit and Gwaine had a bandaged hand. Mordred and Gwen recounted their stories and by the end of it, Merlin was fuming. “I heard the casualty number, but how many survivors?” Merlin asked, barely containing his anger.  
“Just us.” Morgana answered, quietly. Merlin clenched his fists.   
“Dammit.” He muttered. “Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!” He shouted the last part and heard something shatter in the house. The room got eerily quiet and Arthur clutched Merlin’s hand, reassuringly. It helped, but only just. “I’m sorry, Mordred.” Merlin said, much calmer. Mordred shook his head.  
“Don’t be. I understand better than most, Merlin.” Mordred replied. His eyes flashed gold as he fixed whatever Merlin broke.  
“You have _got_ to teach me that.” Gwaine said. Despite the situation, Merlin chuckled. Gwaine looked triumphant at Merlin’s response.  
“Merlin.” Arthur drew attention to himself. “My father…he’s found Emrys, and he knows the pianist’s identity.” Merlin tried not to panic. “And Morgana. He moved us from England because of Merlin.”  
“What?!” Morgana exclaimed.   
“He said Merlin is a bad influence on me.” Arthur said, quietly.   
Another silence fell over the room before Merlin started laughing. It hurt to laugh, but he couldn’t stop.   
“Me? A worse influence than him? I should think not! Back me up on this, knights. Uther? A better influence than me?” Merlin prompted.  
“It’s true. At least you’re nice.” Perceval spoke up, causing Lancelot to start laughing. Before Merlin knew what was happening, the room was in hysteria induced giggling. Even Arthur was laughing. It was a nice expression.   
Soon enough, the mood died and the room was hushed once more.   
“How long before we’re discovered?” Merlin asked.  
“Long enough.” Mordred replied, confusedly.  
“What do you say we settle things? Take out Morgause then have a little chat with Uther?” Merlin suggested. Arthur stiffened, so Merlin rushed to add: “If you want, we won’t hurt Uther.”  
“Just put him in jail.” Gwaine added, helpfully.  
“He deserves that much.” Arthur spoke, surprising Merlin. His face was grim but his eyes were determined. “After all he’s done. Not just to me, not just to sorcerers and warlocks, but to New York and Camelot, he deserves it.” Merlin didn’t like how Arthur was acting. He was painfully reminded of that day, many years ago, when Arthur nearly killed his father and would have if Merlin hadn’t been there.   
“Can we talk for a moment, Arthur?” Merlin asked. Arthur’s face changed immediately. The concern was back, but his whole demeanor was warmer.   
Arthur helped Merlin to his feet and they walked into the hallway. “What’s going on, Arthur? Even back in Camelot, you didn’t want to do anything bad to your father.” Merlin said.  
“He hurt you, Merlin.” Arthur said.  
“We’re not sure if it was him. It could’ve been Morgause.” Merlin amended.   
“He said he had an informant, someone who knew where you were and who you are. If that wasn’t him today, than I’ll be quite surprised.” Arthur said.  
“You might be onto something. This didn’t seem like her normal methods. But that means something else. The informant, it couldn’t be Morgause. Even if he has no memory of his past life, Uther wouldn’t trust her. And I’ve been very careful about my identity. Some would deem it paranoid, almost.” Merlin was thinking aloud.  
“What are you saying?” Arthur asked, looking like he already knew the answer but didn’t want to hear it confirmed. Merlin didn’t want to say what he had to next.  
“I’m saying that we’ve been betrayed.”


	11. Hunting Emrys

The man walked around the room.   
“Man, what a waste.” He grumbled, kicking a piece of glass out of the way. The bar would’ve been a treat to visit in its heyday. But, some of the fun was in destroying it. The man walked around, watching his operatives check the surrounding area for survivors. “Check the bodies. They might have something good on ‘em.” He barked. The underlings rushed to complete the task their boss set for them. The man smirked as he heard the door open behind him.   
He spun on his heel, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “Uther! So glad you could make it. No survivors, as you can see.” The man cocked his head at the bodies around him. Uther nodded.  
“And Emrys?” Uther prompted.  
“Dead in his study. We’re going to check out the scene in a moment, if you want to see.” The man replied. Uther smiled.  
“I would like nothing more.” Uther said. The man threw his head back and laughed.   
“You know, Uther, you hide it well, but you’re a sadistic bastard. I like it.” The man straightened up. “So, what you got against Emrys? I mean, I hate the son of a bitch as much as the next guy, but that’s just business. Yours is personal.” The man pulled a cigarette and his lighter out of his pockets. He lit the cigarette and breathed in, letting the smoke fill his lungs.  
“My reasons, as you said, are personal. Come on. I have my car waiting outside.” Uther nearly commanded. The man shrugged.  
“Sounds good.” The man said, as they began walking. “It’s a bit odd, don’t you think? You don’t know my employer, but you trust me.” The man mused.  
“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Your information is solid, and that is all.” Uther quipped. The man smirked, getting into the backseat of the car with Uther.  
“So, where’s your son?” The man asked. Uther stiffened. “As you said, my information is as solid as it is constant.” Uther fixed him with a glare that did nothing to intimidate him.  
“You believe you weave a web around this city and know all of its goings on, but I can assure you, you know nothing about my son.” Uther growled.  
“I hear he ran off with a dame. Middle of the night, out of the blue.” This was, of course, complete bullshit. He just wanted to see what Uther would do. Oh, how he did love egging irritable people on. And Uther was the king of the irritable.   
The man continued, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Hear the dame is a flapper, too. Hear her daddy is one of them rich types who don’t know nothing about her pastimes.” How fun it was to see the vein in Uther’s head grow larger with every syllable! “Rumor has it that she’s done this a few times before. Seduced the son of a wealthy man, then cheated ‘im into bankruptcy. I’ve gotta admire her skill.”   
“That’s enough, now, Cenred. This is this place, yes?” Uther asked through gritted teeth. Cenred grinned.  
“Indeed it is the place.” Cenred replied.  
They climbed out of the car and Cenred went first. As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted by the strong tang of blood. He’d never get enough of that smell as long as he lived, but only if the blood wasn’t his.   
He walked up to where he believed the study to be. He’d expected to find the body. All he found was a pool of blood.   
He kneeled down to examine it. “Huh. So the slippery bastard lives. Best report to the boss about this. Not gonna be too happy, let me tell you.” Cenred said.  
“You mean Emrys lives?!” Uther screeched. Such an odd sound to hear coming from him.  
“That’s precisely what I mean. Or, at least, someone moved his body.” Something caught Cenred’s eye and he picked it up. A bullet, one of his. He smiled, predatorily. “We have someone very interesting on our hands, Uther. Lookie, here. Five bullets. That’s how many rounds were fired into Emrys. All of them hit vital spots. Anyone normal should’ve died.” Cenred took the bullets and put them into his pockets. His smoke hung limply out of his mouth, crumbling to ash quickly.   
“I’m going to look forward to hunting Emrys.”

 

“Which one of you did it?” Merlin questioned, lounging casually on the sofa.   
It was a bizarre transformation, Arthur noted. Only a few moments ago, he was clutching his injuries and limping. Now he was as casual as could be, yet still a threatening presence. For the first time, Arthur wondered just _what_ Merlin could do. He suddenly believed all of what the warlock had said. Perhaps he _did_ have a lot of blood on his hands.  
“Did what?” Morgana asked, frowning. Merlin smirked, not reaching his icy eyes. Arthur shivered.  
“Sold us out, love. What else? My inner circle is right here, no one else knew anything about me. One of you sold us out. I just want to know which of you it was.” Merlin said. The room was silent. “I don’t much care for doubting my friends, but people have lost lives over this. So I have to know. Who. Did. It?” Merlin demanded. Lancelot cleared his throat, earning a death glare from the warlock.  
“I didn’t do it, Merlin, you have to believe that…But I know who did. I’m sorry to break this to you, truly, I am, but Freya betrayed us.” Lancelot confessed. Merlin stiffened and Arthur instantly knew Lancelot had made a bad move. The former knight pressed on, despite Merlin’s icy glare, an impossible feat Arthur wouldn’t have managed. Lancelot had always had more courage than anyone else. “Recently, I’d seen her slipping out of the club at odd times and vanishing. So one night, I followed her. She walked into an alleyway and met up with Cenred.” Arthur didn’t like the mention of Cenred’s name. “She wasn’t being tortured, I don’t think so, and she gave the information willingly. Her position as the Lady of the Lake and one of your inner circle left her with valuable information, like how to disable your wards and your identity. I only refrained from telling you earlier because I didn’t dare to believe it, myself. I’d heard your stories of Freya, and I didn’t want to believe she could do this.” Lancelot concluded. Merlin sighed.  
“Why would she betray us? What reason could she have for it?” Merlin lamented. Arthur wanted nothing more than to go and embrace Merlin, but he knew it would be a bad idea, so he stayed where he was. “Mordred, you examined her body,” Merlin started. No one but Arthur seemed to notice Merlin’s flinch at the word ‘body’. “Was there anything off?”  
“I detected a trace of magic. I figured it was a mix of hers and the enchantment she was killed with, so I didn’t look too closely. But, it may have been more. It’s possible that she didn’t betray you of her own free will.” Merlin nodded, curtly, at Mordred’s reply.   
“Thank you. And I’m sorry I suspected all of you. In situations like these, everyone is guilty until proven innocent. Not a method I enjoy, but effective.” Merlin said.  
“I’ll go examine her, again. See what I can glean.” Mordred quickly left the room after his statement.  
“Lancelot, when did you see Freya leave the bar?” Arthur questioned. It was hard to believe a week ago, he didn’t know who any of these people were nor why he should care about them.  
“Three days ago. After her last song.” Lancelot replied. Arthur remembered that song and nearly let out a bitter laugh. He was there, that night.   
It all fit. Gwen and Morgana had plans that night, so they likely wouldn’t have seen her. He was with Merlin when she left. Gwaine was watching the door. Of course.   
“So, suppose she was an informant of Cenred’s. Why did she have to die? Purely from a logical stand-point, she was an excellent pawn. No one would have readily suspected her, save for Lancelot, she would’ve been told secrets, possibly more useful than the ones she was already privy to. So why kill her? And why with an enchantment?” Merlin wondered aloud. Mordred soon came back into the room.  
“I’m afraid it’s worse than we thought. I detected traces of Morgause’s magic in her brain.” Mordred reported.  
“Unsurprising. Cenred and Morgause have been allies for a long time.” Gwaine spat, bitterly. Mordred continued.  
“There’s more. The enchantment that killed her…it wasn’t foreign magic. She committed suicide.”


	12. A Matter of Trust

“We’ve already established that Cenred killing her wasn’t a good idea, so she couldn’t have been ordered to commit suicide. My theory is, she got a moment of clarity and decided to stop herself from doing anything else.” Arthur said, firmly.   
Though he was paying attention, Mordred couldn’t help but notice how haggard Merlin looked. This scenario was taking everything out of him.   
“It’s a good theory, Arthur. But, I think that’s enough for today.” Mordred said, pushing himself off the wall. “As the only other sorcerer here, I’m in charge of Merlin’s health. He _did_ get shot five times. No one, not even someone magical, comes out of that scot free. I swear, guns may have been the worst idea of the past few centuries. All the time, bang, bang, bang.” Mordred ranted. He lifted Merlin to his feet and dragged the protesting warlock to the bedroom.   
“But there are still things to work out!” Merlin whined.  
“You are the world’s oldest five-year-old, Emrys.” Mordred scolded. “Besides, I know what talking about Freya does to you.” He pushed the now slightly glassy-eyed warlock onto the bed. “Go to sleep. If I catch you trying to talk anymore strategy today, you’re not getting dinner.”  
“What are you, my mother?” Merlin quipped, slurring just slightly.  
“I might as well be! You’d think, in fifteen-hundred years, you’d learn to take care of yourself better! I look up to you, Merlin, but you need help.” Mordred snapped. Merlin smiled, sleepily.  
“Thank you, Mordred. I’m glad you take care of me. I like to think of you as the little brother I never had.” Merlin said.   
Mordred knew Merlin wouldn’t be saying those things if he wasn’t a little out of it, but it touched him. He knew from experience that anything Merlin said just before falling asleep is truth.  
“Go to sleep. We’ll talk revenge when you get up.” Mordred said, soothingly.  
“You got it!” Merlin almost cheered. Mordred closed the door and leaned against the wall.   
So many things had changed for him. He still wasn’t sure how Merlin could find it in himself to forgive him. It was Mordred’s fault he had to wait for so long. It was Mordred’s fault for Camelot’s ultimate demise. All of it was Mordred’s fault.  
“Mordred.” He jumped a little and looked to see Gwaine. “Why were you sorry?” Mordred frowned at Gwaine’s words.  
“What?” Mordred asked.  
“Back at the club. You said you were sorry.” Gwaine clarified. Mordred sighed and tipped his head back to stare at his ceiling. He’d been thinking about this ever since he said it.  
“I wasn’t there in enough time. So many people died and Merlin’s hard work was destroyed. You got hurt. And I’m sorry for bringing bad luck wherever I go. I’m sorry for Camelot, I’m sorry for Arthur, I’m sorry for aiding Morgana back then, I’m sorry.” It all spilled out at once and Mordred was surprised at himself. He was usually a bit more controlled than that. “If I could do everything differently, I would. I want you to know that, even if you don’t believe it. You have no reason to believe it.”  
“I have every reason to believe it.” Gwaine said and sat beside him on the floor. “Would you have saved Merlin’s life if you were still against us? I don’t know about the others, but I trust you. And Morgana. You saved Merlin’s life and you are possibly the only other person who understands him. And Morgana? She saved my life and genuinely cares about Arthur and Merlin. I’ve always been surprised by Merlin’s ability to forgive others. Now I know why it’s a good thing to have.” Gwaine concluded. Mordred smiled.  
“Thank you, Gwaine.” Mordred said. Gwaine hit him lightly on the shoulder. “How’s your hand?”  
“Much better. Bit distorted, but not incredibly noticeable.” Gwaine held it out for Mordred to examine. “You’re a very good healer.” Mordred turned his head down to hide his blush at the praise. He’d never been too good with compliments. Footsteps made him look up.   
“Mordred, may I have a word with you?” Arthur asked. Mordred stood up and led Arthur to his library.   
It was smaller than Merlin’s, but Mordred had less years. A lot less years. “I just wanted to say thank you.” Arthur said, earnestly. Mordred was taken aback. He wasn’t sure what this conversation was going to be about, but it certainly wasn’t this. “Even though I had already been planning it, I was a bit uncertain as to whether or not I was going to the Ambrosia club a few days ago. But then you came by and told me to go. What happened between us in Camelot and at Camlann…it was a long time ago.” Mordred flinched. He didn’t like remembering when he had killed Arthur.  
“So you remember?” Mordred asked.  
“I do. And I understand, now. I am sorry I condemned Kara to death. The whole situation was a mess and I’m deeply sorry.” Arthur apologized, sincerely.  
Despite his conviction to stay calm at all times, Mordred broke down. This whole day had been getting to it. He embraced Arthur and started crying. Arthur, awkward as he was, only patted his back. He was much less awkward with Merlin, but Mordred didn’t care. Everyone had forgiven him. He was an ally. And Arthur’s awkwardness only proved that.   
“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Outside, it began to snow.

 

Merlin groggily opened his eyes. Outside the window, the world was white. Huh, snow.   
He flopped out of bed, landing with a soft _thump_ on the floor. “Ow.” He muttered, bitterly. He heard voices shouting and immediately knew something was happening.   
He had an easier time moving, now, and found himself on the same path as the first time he’d woken. He opened the door and found a very different scene.   
Everyone was tense, angry, and in the center of the room was a man tied to a chair. In the corner of the room was… “Leon?!” Merlin exclaimed. Leon smiled, but said nothing. Mordred was kneeling in front of the bound man.   
“Will you tell us where your boss is?” Mordred asked, quietly. Menacingly. The man said nothing. Mordred sighed and pulled out a knife. Merlin nearly burst out laughing. He understood what was about to happen.   
“Are you aware of what this is? This is an enchanted dagger. Any wound made with this will never heal.” Mordred said. Merlin was struggling to keep his cool. “Do you understand? If I cut you with this, it will lead to a slow and agonizing death of bleeding until you’re drained. I think it would be best for you to fess up.” Everyone else in the room was visibly disturbed. The man thought long and hard for a moment. Mordred pressed the flat side of the dagger to the man’s neck. “One movement. That’s all it will take. One movement and I will gladly watch you bleed out.” The man whispered a few things that Merlin wasn’t aware enough to catch. Mordred nodded, drawing the dagger away, and turned to Merlin. “He works for Morgause. What should we do with him?” Merlin weighed all of the options.  
“Erase his memory of this and release him. There is no need for unnecessary bloodshed.” Merlin ordered, smoothly. Mordred set to work without further ado. “Now, will someone explain to me what’s happening?”  
“I caught an assassin of Morgause’s and brought him here. I’ve been in mild contact with Mordred since around a year ago and I’ve been underground, scouting for old enemies of Camelot’s. When I caught wind of the feud between Emrys and Morgause, I knew to keep my eyes open for any danger. I thought you could use one of her grunts.” Leon explained.   
When Mordred was finished, he collapsed onto one of his cushy blue chairs, exhausted. Perceval took the now unconscious man out of the room.  
“Thank you, Leon. And Mordred, you stole my move.” Merlin teased the last part.  
“It was a good idea, what else was I supposed to do?” Mordred said, petulantly, tossing the dagger aside. It landed near Gwen’s feet and she flinched away. “Don’t worry, it’s a normal dagger. The enchantment was just a bluff. Can still cut you, though.”   
“I should sue you for the unlawful use of my idea.” Merlin tried to say it with a serious face. Mordred laughed.  
“I think we’re far past the law by now.” Mordred shot back.  
The room fell silent all of a sudden.  
“How long was I asleep?” Merlin questioned.  
“Twelve hours. And we now have a location for Morgause and, hopefully, Cenred.” Morgana spoke up next, something that surprised everyone else. She had been mostly silent through this whole ordeal.  
“Than what are we waiting for? Let’s go storm the castle!”


	13. Morgause

“If I’m forced to stay indoors while you’re off taking revenge and whatnot, tell me you at least have a piano.” Merlin groaned to Mordred. The man in question simply rolled his eyes.  
“No. Sorry, Merlin, I don’t own a piano.” Mordred answered, as though he were talking to a child. Merlin huffed.  
“I tried so hard to teach you.” Merlin pouted, slumping on the couch. “Fine, no piano. Do you at least have some parchment I could use? I plan on writing down one of my melodies.” Mordred laughed at Merlin’s petulant behavior.  
“In the study.” He answered.   
Merlin really hated this. He should’ve been at the head of the operation, not sitting at home. Morgana and Gwen were tasked with keeping him there, but what could they do? He was Emrys! He could do whatever he wanted!  
“I can’t believe I’m not going. You lot would be dead several thousand times over without me! Even when I was hiding my magic, I still saved your arses three times a day.” Merlin complained.  
“While I have no doubt that that’s true, you’re still injured. I can’t, in good conscience, bring you along.” Arthur said, soothingly. Merlin glared at him.  
“I also can’t die, in case you’ve forgotten. What’s an injury to me?” Merlin pointed out.  
“You’ll be no help at all if you’re passing out from pain and blood-loss.” Mordred interjected.   
“I truly do hate your logic. Fine, you win.” Merlin gave up. He had a plan, anyways.  
The former knights left Mordred’s house in a near-production. It was astounding to look.  
“Alright, let’s go get you that parchment.” Gwen said, and got up. As soon as she left the room, Morgana turned to look at Merlin.  
“You’re aware we’re going after them, right?” Morgana asked. Merlin grinned. He had _really_ missed Morgana.  
“Oh, definitely. Let me go get my coat. Don’t want to get frostbite before we even get there.” Merlin summoned their coats to them. He then pressed a hand to his chest and felt magic surge through him. “That should last me a few hours.”  
“What did you do?” Morgana asked, putting on her coat. Merlin stood and started buttoning his own.  
“Killed my pain. Very effective ability to have. Should we bring Gwen?” Merlin asked, already knowing the answer. Morgana thought for a moment.  
“Yes, I believe so. Gwen?” She called. The woman walked back into the room and immediately took in their coats.  
“We’re going after the bull-headed knights. Are you coming?” Merlin stated, bluntly.   
“And there’s no talking you out of it?” Gwen asked, hesitantly. Merlin and Morgana shook their heads in tandem. “Alright.” Merlin sent her coat to her and she put it on as they left.   
“Where were they going?” Merlin asked. He hadn’t been allowed to know where they were going, because they knew he’d go after them. Quite right.  
“Upper West Side.” Morgana answered.   
Merlin visualized the place in his mind, grabbing the hands of the women. In a flash, they were there.   
“Handy!” Morgana exclaimed. Merlin had a sudden flashback of a certain physician saying the same thing.   
“Now, which one of these bloody buildings is it?” He said, mostly to himself. He searched for the magical signature of either Morgause or Mordred. He found the latter, first. “That one!” He pointed to a house and the group set off.

 

Arthur kept pace with Mordred as they walked up the steps.   
_'Why is it so quiet?'_ He wondered to himself.  
 _'I don’t know. Something’s off.'_ Arthur jumped when he heard the voice in his head, distinctly not his own.  
 _'I always forget you can do that.'_ Arthur said, slightly annoyed at Mordred.   
Arthur considered for a moment. Was it possible Morgause figured out they were coming and fled, or the grunt had given them the wrong address? There was a nagging voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Merlin that said _‘This is a trap! Run! Run!’_ He promptly ignored it. When had he ever listened to Merlin?   
Mordred finally stopped in front of a door and sent a look to every single on of the former knights. He opened the door and they walked in. It slammed shut behind them, all the lights simultaneously going out, and Arthur desperately wished for a sword. All he had was a gun.  
“Gentlemen!” The room lit up. Morgause stood in front of them, a distorted air about her.   
Arthur felt an overwhelming rush of hatred as everyone raised their guns. She took over Camelot. She enchanted Merlin’s first love. She corrupted Morgana. She was everything he despised.   
“Now, this _is_ a surprise. Arthur Pendragon, I had no idea you’d be coming with them.” Morgause said. The Merlin voice in his head was shouting a repeating chorus of ‘I told you so’. “Oh, how much fun I’ll have showing you to Uther.” Arthur felt himself tense.   
He knew it. He’d been thinking on this, and he’d reached the conclusion that one way or another, his father and his mortal enemy were working together. “Please lower your guns, you can’t shoot me.” No one moved. Morgause sighed, but appeared thrilled. “Very well. Uther, Cenred! We have company.” Two men walked out. Arthur felt a wave of revulsion at the both of them.   
“Arthur! What are you doing?! Come over here at once!” Uther exclaimed. For once in his life, Arthur felt no compulsion to join his father.   
“No. Not this time.” He stepped further back into the cluster of knights.   
He was done being his father’s lackey. All those times he could’ve done the right thing and didn’t because of the man in front of him…he was disgusted with himself. Lancelot and Gwaine were on either side of him. He wished Elyan was here to complete the group. Elyan and Merlin. He now realized he should’ve knighted his manservant so long ago. A realization that came too late.  
“While this display is touching, I’m afraid we have to get on with it. Uther, shall we leave Arthur alive?” Cenred asked. Uther sent Arthur a long glance and he saw love and sorrow and… _pity_. Uther _pitied_ him. Anger swelled in Arthur’s chest, hot and sharp.  
“I’m afraid he has been brainwashed beyond saving. It pains me to say so, but I fear he must die along with them.” Uther said, sorrow heavy in his voice.   
Arthur was surprised, but not offended. He realized there was no love on his end, anymore. In Camelot, at least Uther had been trying his best. Admittedly, he was misguided, but he had loved his son and daughter. Now, he had truly gone mad.  
“Fine by me.” Cenred agreed and made a gesture with his hand and guns, guns from everywhere, began firing.   
Arthur prepared himself for the pain, but it never came. A glowing gold screen was stopping the bullets, and Arthur immediately recognized the source.  
“Mordred!” Arthur shouted, breathlessly. “I’ve no idea what you’re doing, but keep it up!” He fired his gun outside, the knights following his lead.   
Several lines of fire ceased, and Arthur tried not to feel queasy. At least he didn’t feel a blade embed in the flesh of his enemy. That was always the worst. Suddenly, all the firing on both ends stopped.  
“That’s enough, now.” A voice rang out. “As I’ve always said, bloodshed should be avoided when it _can_ be avoided.”   
And Merlin walked out into the light. He showed no signs of injury, in his pristine black coat flecked with snow. His eyes were dark with anger and burning gold, his hands nonchalantly in the air, preforming complicated magic that Arthur couldn’t see. His boots were the only sound in the tense room. He strode forward until he was around six feet away from Morgause. “How interesting. An invisible protection wall. Skillfully weaved, but ineffective against someone of high power. For instance, Mordred le Fay, or myself.” Merlin put out his hand, eyes not once losing their gold sheen. He rested his palm on something very much solid.   
The air rippled, then it vanished. Morgause, Uther, and Cenred no longer looked distorted. Arthur knew he shouldn’t be, but he was terrified for Merlin. He knew Merlin was immortal, he knew Merlin was powerful, but still, a rather sharp spike of panic entered him. Arthur barely controlled his limbs from acting of their own accord. Merlin knew what he was doing. He’d be fine.   
“Emrys. How nice of you to show up. We’ve been waiting.” Cenred said.  
“Ah. So this whole thing was a trap for me. That makes sense, but if one goes into a trap with the utmost caution, one is already on the winning side.” Merlin said, simply, disguising his anger well. But Arthur could still see it in the set of the warlock’s shoulders.  
“I must ask. How did you survive your bullet wounds?” Cenred questioned.  
“I am an immortal. The rest of you have been reincarnated from Camelot’s time to the 20th century, I have not. I have lived through it all. I cannot die, no matter what you do.” Merlin said. Mordred flinched behind Arthur.   
There was something the sorcerers were not telling him. Even after all this time, Merlin still had secrets.  
“Though it is true, you may not be able to die, we do have our leverage.” Morgause spoke. “Your friends. Shall I kill them one-by-one?” Merlin rolled his eyes.  
“That won’t work, you know? We have two sorcerers.” Morgause smirked.  
“Did you know that there are actually two ways to kill an immortal? Either cut off the magic supply, or damage the brain.” Morgause’s eyes flashed gold and Merlin staggered back, eyes changing back to blue. “I developed that spell just for you. Do you like my little gift?”  
“I’d like to return it, thanks.” Merlin spat. He dropped to his knees, and once again, Arthur had to control his muscles. Interfering would do more harm than good.  
“I see you _do_ have injuries. You were just numbing the pain.” Morgause thought it out.  
“And it was working quite well, thank you very much.” Merlin snapped. Morgause chuckled and her eyes flashed gold again.   
The shield around the knights dissolved and Mordred collapsed. Gwaine was at his side in an instant.   
“Alright, I understand why you hate me. But, please, please, leave them alone. Mordred has done nothing to you, neither have the knights. If your quarrel is with me, than let it be just with me.” Merlin pleaded and Arthur’s heart broke for him.   
“No, that wouldn’t be much fun, would it?” Morgause said, cruelly.   
“Shall I give another order?” Cenred asked.   
“No. I want to enjoy this.” Morgause raised her hand and Perceval was flung back into the wall.  
“Perceval!” Arthur shouted. Merlin was looking at the sorceress with loathing laid bare.   
She simply smiled and took a gun from Cenred. She leveled it at Leon, who backed up. She shot his arm and he cried out.   
Arthur shot at her and anyone else. He was done controlling his fury. He managed to shoot Cenred’s leg and was considerably proud of it.   
“Arthur, no!” Merlin shouted. Arthur saw the gun being pointed at him and felt a brief flash of fear before…  
 _Bang!_


	14. Dying Light

Time slowed down. Arthur was certain he wasn’t imagining it. The bullet was coming towards him in slow motion. He tried to move, but he was frozen.   
Before he even realized what was happening, he was being dragged down to the ground and time resumed to normal speed. He landed on the ground next to Mordred, who was awake. He had his hands around Arthur’s arm. He looked tired.   
But there was only one explanation. Mordred had slowed down time using magic.  
“How…?” Arthur began. Mordred looked as confused as him. Arthur stood, helping Mordred to his feet.   
He saw Merlin bracing himself on the ground, panting heavily. He coughed up blood. “Merlin!” Arthur shouted. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the passed out bodies of Cenred, Morgause, and Uther.  
“We don’t have long…” Merlin replied, gasping for air. “RUN!” He shouted. The knights bolted, leaving Arthur behind. “Arthur, what are you doing?” Arthur said nothing, he only dashed to Merlin’s side and picked him up bridal style. “Don’t.”  
“Why not?” Arthur demanded. Merlin gave him a look. His eyes were flickering gold, but more like a dying lightbulb than the glorious blaze they held at the beginning of this encounter.  
“My magic won’t last long. Her spell was a bit weak on me, so I had enough energy to end this and give Mordred back his magic. I’m losing strength.”   
“I’m not just going to give up on you!” Arthur protested.  
“We don’t have time to argue about this, Arthur! I don’t want you to see me die!” Merlin argued.  
“You’re not going to die! We can get you back to Mordred and he can fix this.” Arthur insisted. Merlin gave a half-smile.  
“I’m afraid that’s not how this works.” Merlin grabbed Arthur’s face and pulled him into a quick, desperate kiss. He then pushed Arthur away, struggling to get out of his arms, and used just a bit of magic to get him out of the door. Arthur could’ve sworn he heard Merlin say “I love you.”   
The door slammed shut. Arthur threw himself against the metal, pain shooting throughout his body in protest, but he persisted.   
“MERLIN!” He screamed pounding violently against the door. “Merlin, open this door! Merlin! Merlin, I will not let you die! MERLIN!” His screaming got hoarse.  
“Arthur?” He turned around at the voice, arms bloody and tears streaming from his eyes. Everyone was standing in a circle, including Gwen and Morgana. Mordred was slumped against Perceval, exhausted.   
“Someone has to go in there and save Merlin. He’s dying! His magic is being drained and he was left in there with _them_.” Arthur spat the last word, venomously. Mordred began to stand but fell over, immediately. Lancelot caught him.   
Morgana stepped forward and pressed her hands against the door. Arthur wasn’t surprised when her eyes flashed the molten gold he knew so well. The door flew open and they poured in once more. This time, the door did not slam shut.   
The scene that greeted Arthur was one that would haunt him for years to come. Morgause and Cenred were dead, bleeding from large gashes. His father was alive, standing over Merlin with a gun pointed at the man lying on the ground. Merlin wasn’t moving.   
Everything inside Arthur went numb. He heard people crying out, as if through water. His hand moved of its own accord, reaching to grab his previously holstered gun. His hand, much to his surprise, was steady. He drew it and aimed.   
_Bang!_ Uther staggered back, clutching the blooming patch of scarlet over his heart. Arthur felt no emotion as his father hit the ground. All he could do was replace his gun and walk slowly to Merlin’s side.   
He dropped to his knees and brushed Merlin’s cheek. His skin was too cold.   
Morgana was kneeling on the man’s other side, the knights and Gwen all gathered round.   
“Let me see.” Arthur heard, distantly. Mordred, who was being barred, pushed through the knights and collapsed in front of Merlin. “There’s still time to fix this…I can still…” He began, stammering. “All I need is a sign of life. Come on, Merlin. Show me something.” Mordred pleaded.  
Arthur knew there was no chance. All of the magic had bled out of Merlin, driven home by his bleeding wounds. His eyes were wide open, unseeing with none of their shine. Merlin was dead.  
Arthur heard the sounds of crying and screaming, of grief, but as though in a dream. The logical part of his mind knew the truth, but he didn’t want to believe it. How could he believe it?   
Merlin, who had waited since the time of Camelot for Arthur. Merlin, who was impossible to kill. Merlin, the one constant in Arthur’s life ever since he called the prince an ass.   
Arthur reached a trembling hand up to close Merlin’s eyes, but hesitated. Eventually, his reasoning won out, and he closed the eyes of his beloved for the final time. Arthur wanted to be angry at Merlin for leaving. But it was such a Merlin way to go. Using the last of his strength to save the people he cared most about, defying the bad guys one last time, being the hero he always was.   
Arthur was only slightly disturbed by the overwhelming numbness inside him. He should’ve felt grief, distinct and agonizing. He should’ve felt sorrow, lasting and cruel. But all he felt was numb. Like everything had been muted, and the world was gray.   
And Arthur was unsurprised at Merlin’s last words. They fit him so well. _I love you._ Arthur felt tears run down his cheeks.   
“And I, you.” Arthur whispered, then broke down sobbing.

 

Arthur and Mordred walked side-by-side through the streets of New York. The last time they had done this, Merlin had been with them.   
There were no words spoken between the two of them. There was no need.   
They arrived at Merlin’s house, a cheery gold colored place that was small and large all at once, appearing like it had been cobbled together to make something unique. Arthur could’ve cried.  
Merlin’s porch only had two wooden chairs and a table, with a vase of sunflowers on top.  
Mordred walked to the crimson door and opened it, leading Arthur inside.   
The house was so uniquely Merlin. Chairs that were almost too cushy, books and mess accumulating, the ever-lingering scent of tea.   
It was significantly more wrecked than the first time Arthur had seen it, and Arthur pushed away memories of their first day together in ten years.   
Mordred walked the steps to the library, but Arthur was gravitating to another part of the house. The music room.   
When he entered the room, he could almost hear soft music echoing. A ghost of the past that was not so long past. It was hard to believe that just a week ago, Merlin was a fond memory of his former home and nothing more.   
Arthur walked to the piano, for the first time noticing the silver engraving on its side, and sat on the bench. He could see outside, into the snowy world, and he could see a fireplace with a large flag hanging over it. Arthur clamped down on his sobs when he recognized it. Camelot’s flag. He could picture it now. Merlin, playing the piano on a snowy day with a roaring fire going in the background, thinking of better days. He could picture it so clearly, it was almost as though he was there.   
Arthur was roused from his thoughts by Mordred’s footsteps. Mordred wordlessly handed an envelope to Arthur and Arthur noticed the younger man’s face, as if for the first time that day. There were dark circles under his reddened eyes, his posture was sagging, and he appeared exhausted. Arthur realized that he’d been through a lot, as well. Used up most of his magic and lost a person who he likely though of as a brother.   
Arthur reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.   
Arthur wasn’t the only one who lost Merlin, and he quickly disposed of the idea of dealing with the loss on his own.   
Mordred couldn’t manage a smile, but Arthur got the message.   
Mordred left the room, leaving Arthur with the envelope. On the front was his name in scrawling script. Merlin’s, he faintly recognized. He opened it and pulled out a wad of parchment. He began to read.  
 _Arthur,  
I hate the very thought of this letter, but it is necessary. As I write this, you have not yet arisen, but I am still hoping for your return. I will not readily lose that faith, I can assure you.   
In the event of my highly improbable death, I want you to know something. One of us will only become immortal after the other’s death. I am caused pain by the idea of you being immortal and going through what I have gone through. I believe we are the favorite playthings of destiny, and I find myself loathing the word ‘fate’. What has fate ever done for us? When has it not worked against us?   
I know I am mostly at fault for the events in Camelot, and I have long since realized my foolish mistakes. Not trusting Mordred. Poisoning Morgana. Hiding the truth for so long. For all of this and more, I am sorry. Truly. I have been too cowardly to admit this beforehand, but I feel comfortable admitting this in a form where I know it will not be read for some time.   
I am in love with you. I have been in love with you since long ago. I know you never felt the same, being with Guinevere, but I have felt it. Being near you was an amazing privilege, and though I still think of you as a prat, I think of it lovingly.   
I know not the circumstances of my demise, but I’m assuming you were there. I always knew you would be the death of me, Arthur Pendragon. But don’t think for a moment I blame you. No matter what, I don’t blame you. I miss you every day you are gone, and I don’t want you to feel that.   
I will not be upset if you do not wait for me to rise again. I will understand. Eternity is too long a time. There are many things I want to say to you, but I do not know how to phrase them. I hope you will forgive me for that. I hope you will forgive me for many things I did in life.  
Forever your servant,  
Merlin_  
Arthur set down the letter and let his tears fall onto the ivory keys below him. He was immortal. More importantly, he was immortal because of Merlin’s death. As the letter fluttered down, he caught sight of another piece of writing.  
 _P.S, I thought it time for you to have this back. I have kept it safe all these years, but I find it hard to part with._  
Arthur grabbed the envelope and reached inside. He pulled out the cold metal object. His mother’s sigil.   
All at once, he felt a rush of grief, sorrow, and affection for Merlin. He felt it right to speak his thoughts aloud. “I will wait for you, as you have for me. I swear by it, I will wait.”


	15. Aftermath

Arthur walked into the Ambrosia club and felt nothing but sorrow.   
The bodies Mordred had said were there were gone. Someone had disposed of them. He hoped it had been done properly, at the very least.   
Arthur tried not to think about his first night here. He tried not to think about the night he confronted Merlin. He just set to mindless work.   
It had only been a day. One day since Merlin’s death. One day since they had put him in the ground. Modern customs wouldn’t allow them to burn his body in a proper burial, but Arthur was sort of glad for it. It meant he had something to visit, like Merlin had the lake to visit.   
Mordred had been up for nearly twenty-four hours by that point. Merlin would’ve told him to go to bed like a mother hen, but now it was Arthur’s responsibility. He felt a lot like a mother hen, now.   
He righted a table and desperately wished he had Merlin’s magic. To make this process a bit easier. Still, he got a broom and started sweeping up the broken glass. He wondered, briefly, how much money Merlin had spent on the alcohol currently seeping into the floorboards.   
“Arthur.” His head swiveled to see Gwaine standing in the entrance.  
“Gwaine.” Arthur replied.  
“What’s your plan?” Gwaine asked.  
“Pardon?” Arthur said, turning back to his task.  
“Now that Merlin’s…” Gwaine trailed off. The word ‘dead’ hung in between them and Arthur stiffened. Gwaine looked haggard.   
“Wait for Prohibition to end. Can’t have this happening again.” Arthur gestured to the bar. “I’ll reopen when it’s over. Then wait. That’s really all I can do, isn’t it? Wait for Merlin?” Gwaine frowned.  
“What do you mean?” The knight questioned, confusedly. Arthur laughed, humorlessly.  
“Merlin and I have switched places. He waited all these years for me to rise, now it’s my turn. I’m immortal, Gwaine.” Arthur confessed. Gwaine didn’t reply, he simply started helping Arthur in the clean-up.   
They worked in utter silence, not comfortable, yet not uncomfortable, either. The sun outside started to go down. By nightfall, most of the work was done.   
“Are you really immortal?” Gwaine asked as they were leaving the Ambrosia.  
“Yes, though I don’t particularly care to test it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Arthur said, already predicting Gwaine’s train of thought. There was a long pause.  
“Have you ever wondered why it’s called ‘Ambrosia’?” Gwaine asked, suddenly. The question was unexpected.  
“I have to admit, I’ve wondered about it.” Arthur responded.  
“He said it was because of you.” Gwaine admitted. Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Ambrosia in Greek mythology is the food of the gods, something mortals want but can never have. I only know this because of Merlin, mind you. He said you were his Ambrosia.”   
Again, there was the mixture of affection and grief flooding his heart. Of _course_ that was Merlin’s reason. Only he would be that sappy.   
Having no other place to go, the pair walked to Mordred’s house. Gwaine knocked then walked in. They found Mordred on his sofa, reading a letter.   
“You got one, too?” Gwaine questioned.  
“We all did.” Mordred replied, too coldly. A letter from Merlin. Sentimental sap. Arthur sighed, deeply.   
How was he going to survive without Merlin?

 

Arthur tied his tie and looked in the mirror. He looked like he’d been through Hell. But he knew the Hell was yet to come.   
He slipped on his black blazer and pushed back the straggling strands of hair, forcing them to stay put. His dress shoes clacking on the wooden floor was the only sound in the otherwise still room.   
It was time.   
Arthur looked out over the flock of people gathered to hear their new boss’s command. Arthur did, after all, kill the previous boss of the mafia.   
The thought was still distant to him, as if it was a dream he couldn’t quite remember, but, still, he felt no pain or grief for Uther Pendragon. He wondered how he ever could.  
“Anyone still living in the organizations of Cenred and Morgause is to be executed swiftly and surely. Anyone innocent, such as children and families, is to be left alive. Only confirmed members, understood?” Arthur commanded. He dismissed them to their tasks, letting out a breath he’d been holding.   
Thankfully, he didn’t have to deal with this for much longer. As soon as the organizations were executed, he was disbanding his mob. He was going to put his father’s legacy to an end, one way or another. He still had one other matter to attend to.   
The walk to Merlin’s house was lengthy, but Arthur didn’t mind. He was actually surprised how quickly he had memorized the route. He didn’t even have to think about where he was going. He just knew.   
Arthur opened the door and set off to the library. He didn’t look at the bloodstains. He didn’t even want to look at them.   
He instead searched through the books. It had to be here somewhere!   
It took him nearly five hours to find it, but once he did, he let out a breath of relief. There were so many wonderful books in this collection, but this was the one Arthur wanted. Merlin’s first book of magic, from back in the time of Camelot.   
Arthur grinned at it, cheeks hurting slightly from not being used in that way for some time. He had vowed to himself that if he was going to wait for Merlin, this is what he would spend his time doing. Learning the magic that Merlin felt in his very soul.   
He knew he’d never be as powerful as Emrys, no one could be, but he wanted to keep the magic alive inside the Ambrosia club. He couldn’t stand the idea of it becoming a normal bar, and he was sure Mordred would agree. He’d talked to Mordred, who was still grieving as heavily as Arthur, and Mordred had agreed to teach him magic after the beginning of the new year, in a little over a month.   
“Arthur?” He looked up to see Gwen in the doorway.  
“Guinevere? What are you doing here?” Arthur asked.  
“I could ask you the same.” Gwen shot back. He lifted the book to show her. A look of comprehension dawned on her face. “Ah. Gwaine told us that you were immortal. Does that mean you won’t age, either?”  
“Merlin didn’t age, so I suppose I won’t, either.” Arthur replied. A moment of silence passed between them.  
“Listen, Arthur…I know we were married once…” Gwen began, but Arthur held up a hand to stop her. He’d already thought about this extensively.  
“If you are in love with another, you have my blessing. I’m not certain I could fall in love with anyone, anyways. Not after Merlin.” Arthur said. Gwen’s expression was unreadable.   
“So, you are no longer in love with me?” Gwen asked. It wasn’t accusatory, simply curiosity.  
“A part of me may always love you, Guinevere, but that love has morphed. I’m in love with Merlin, and I plan on waiting for him to return.” Arthur responded. She nodded and gave a smile with her painted red lips.  
“I always knew one day destiny would bring you together. I always knew I wasn’t your true love, though you did love me and I did love you.” Arthur wanted to be offended, but he knew she spoke only the truth.   
“Thank you for understanding.” Arthur said, sincerely. Gwen smiled again. “How are the others? Dealing with their grief, I mean? I’ve only spoken recently to Mordred and Gwaine.” Mordred hadn’t really eaten anything in two days and Gwaine had made no jokes. That was a big deal, especially to Arthur.  
“Morgana is incredibly upset. She hasn’t come out of her room, saying that she couldn’t help. She’s blaming herself. Lancelot seems a bit more hollow, refusing to even express emotion, Perceval hasn’t spoken a word at all, and Leon seems to be going through a haze. Merlin really was our core.” Gwen choked on the word ‘was’. Tears slipped down her face. Arthur put his hand on hers, feeling himself start to cry again.   
They sat in silence, holding hands and grieving. It felt right, even though Arthur wasn’t in love with her. Her presence was familiar, comforting. And he really needed that.

 

“Mordred, I know we’re all hurting, but you have to eat.” Gwaine said, sounding even to his own ears annoyed and sympathetic.   
He and Mordred had struck a deal and the former knights were living together.   
Mordred shook his head and Gwaine groaned. He understood the loss of appetite, he was having a bit of it, himself. But Mordred was beginning to look too exhausted to function. And he could already hear Merlin scolding him for not taking care of the former druid. They really _had _grown close, Merlin and Mordred.  
“Would Merlin really want you to starve yourself?” Gwaine pointed out, knowing full well it was a low blow. Mordred fixed him with an icy glare at the mention of Merlin’s name. “Glare at me all you want, it won’t change the fact that I’m trying to help you.”  
“I’m not hungry. I had a bit earlier.” Mordred mumbled, looking down at his feet.   
“I really don’t believe that.” Gwaine made a decision. “I’m calling the knights, and we’re going out. I think we all need to get together.” Gwaine made the calls and soon enough, the men were assembled in Mordred’s living room.   
Perceval hadn’t said a single word during the whole affair, Arthur was clutching an object in his right hand, and Leon seemed to be popping in and out of the conversation.   
Gwaine led the broken knights to a diner, where he bought them all dinner. He had to force Mordred to eat, whereas Lancelot devoured the meal and asked for seconds.   
Gwaine picked up his glass of tea and raised it. “To Merlin.” He said, just loud enough for the party to hear. They all raised their glasses as well.  
“To Merlin.” They toasted and clinked their glasses together. For once, a liquid that wasn’t alcohol was welcoming. He wanted to stay sober for this. To everyone’s surprise, Perceval was the one that spoke next.  
“He once called me a lovable sleeve-less brute.” Perceval said. That startled a laugh out of Mordred. “I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not, so I just stared at him for a bit. He patted my arm and said ‘You have potential’. He walked away. Still the strangest encounter of my life.” This brought all of the men to laughter.   
And that’s how they spent the rest of the night. Sharing stories about the one who brought them all together, grief still fresh in their minds.__


	16. One Last Time

_A Certain Number of Years Later_  
Merlin wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking when he agreed to Morgana’s idea. Then again, no one was ever sure what they had been thinking when it came to Morgana. It was one of those things that was so inexplicable you couldn’t even believe it was real until her ideas panned out, for better or worse.   
Merlin had been having a fine day, with a good book and a cup of very strong tea, until Morgana had barged into his flat and demanded that he come out. He’d argued for a bit, then he saw that there was no point and asked where they were going. He hated clubs and he hated techno. If there was only a single definition for what Merlin was, it was introverted. The less techno, the better.   
Morgana had chosen a place called the ‘Ambrosia Club’, telling him it was a jazz club that was never crowded, always comfortable, and had a little bit of other to it. He wasn’t sure what ‘other’ meant, and wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.   
Morgana told him to dress in a suit or tux. He’d chosen a loose fitting button-up shirt and nice trousers. He’d refused a tie. He wanted to show he wasn’t happy about this, and a tie would show he wanted to go. He realized it didn’t make much sense said aloud, but it made perfect sense in his head and that was good enough for him.   
They’d taken a taxi downtown, Morgana explaining that the Ambrosia Club used to be a speakeasy in the twenties. She’d said that it closed down after the original owner was shot by the mafia but reopened when Prohibition ended. She blabbered about how magnificent the place was, how it was rumored that little had changed since 1925, when it had first closed down.  
Merlin actually was interested in this part. Being a history geek, this was right up his alley.  
They’d gotten out of the taxi and approached a midnight blue door with an unused speakeasy grate (lord, how Merlin wanted one of those). There were words carved in scrawling silver script on the door. _‘The Ambrosia Club’_ and _‘Thee who harbors ill intent may not pass through’_. Merlin thought it was a bit strange.   
Morgana twisted the ornate silver doorknob and Merlin was hit with a blast of warm air. The pair stepped inside and Merlin marveled at the setting.   
Glasses hung, suspended in midair, with small blue flames inside, casting enough light to show everything in the room. The bar to his left had rows and rows of alcohol on a shelf, but Merlin marveled at how there was no bartender, people simply raising their hands to get drinks.   
The club was packed, but in a comfortable way, not one that made his skin crawl. There were doors that led to different places and he stepped through one. There was a pool table in the direct center, though there were no players.   
A spiraling staircase called to him, as they often did, but Morgana pulled him back and pointed harshly at the unoccupied stage.   
There were no musicians playing, but there was music coming from the instruments, nonetheless. Merlin instantly fell in love and felt like he was coming home. Like he had been away for quite some time and finally stepped into the comfort of his own bedroom.   
However, when he saw what Morgana was pointing at, he felt himself pale. “No.” He said, firmly.   
“You’ve got to! You’re the best!” Morgana said.  
“Absolutely not! Morgana, you can’t think I’ll do that!” Merlin argued.  
“I don’t think, I know you will. Now, get up there.” Morgana almost commanded.  
They just happened to arrive on the night where anyone could come up and sing or play an instrument. Merlin strongly suspected that this was no coincidence, but said nothing. There was no successful argument to be had with Morgana when she was certain about something.  
“Fine.” He muttered, darkly. “But you will pay for this, Morgana le Fay. Mark my words.” She grinned, ignoring the last part, and gave him a push.   
The minute he set foot on the stage, the instruments stopped playing, abruptly. They were waiting for his command, he realized. He stepped up to the grand piano. It looked very old but it was well maintained. It had a distinct pattern on the side of it. A swirling silver design against a stark black background.   
He sat at the bench and thought of his melody. It was one he’d known since he was born, like it was ingrained in him, but no one seemed to know what it was. After a time, he just decided that it was his and his alone, that it was born with him like the magic that pumped through his veins.  
He began to play.

 

Arthur sat at the desk and rested his face in his hands.   
It had been nearly a hundred years since Merlin had died and he found himself admiring the man more and more everyday. Merlin was much stronger than he was, to endure this daily torture for 1400 years was no small feat. Arthur was barely enduring it, and it had been merely 92 years. It was a blink to Emrys.   
Over the decades, Arthur had caught glimpses of Merlin. Brief flashes of life. Each time, they spent only one night together, he and the not fully reincarnated Merlin, because each time, Arthur would die a little inside. It was Merlin but at the same time it was not.   
After succumbing to the throes of passion, Arthur wouldn’t be able to stand it. How could he, in good conscience, ever spend more than a single night with someone who was just barely the man he loved? But, each time he was drawn in, he found it impossible to resist. Because the shades were so like Merlin, he could only fool himself for a single night. It was always difficult to stop himself from declaring undying love, which was the full truth of the matter.   
The hardest it had ever been was in World War II. It had been just after the Merlin shade lost his entire squadron and had been desperate to feel something, something other than despair and grief and hopelessness. And Arthur, who was always there, and would always look out for his lover, was the perfect candidate. He’d found it difficult to believe that this wasn’t really Merlin.   
But each time he woke up after a morning with a shade, he realized the truth of the matter. It was like being faithful and unfaithful at the same time. But one thing that always made it clear to him that the shade wasn’t his Merlin was the piano.   
They could never play it, or if they could, they wouldn’t know the melody. The one he’d waited 92 years to hear once more and would wait a hundred more years if it meant getting the real thing.   
At this point, he’d almost given up hope, but kept telling himself that Merlin didn’t give up on him and that he was weak if he couldn’t withstand even a hundred years.   
Currently, he was looking through papers, as he’d seen his warlock do so many time.   
He heard a few shouts from outside his door, something resembling catcalls, and thought that perhaps a pretty dame-a chick with big boobs-had walked onto the stage.  
Arthur would never get used to the modern tongue, so disrespectful to everyone, including the speaker. He’d preferred the slang back in the twenties and up to the forties. People had class, if nothing else. Arthur would, however, get rid of the inequality of the time.  
Arthur wasn’t particularly fond of the modern era. He liked the technology, of course he did, but he thought most of the issues should’ve been solved by this point.   
He’d written it off as a random woman with large breasts, judging by the sounds the audience was making (the mere thought disgusted him), when he heard it.   
He was sent back in time by the song, back to the room with rain pounding on the windows and sweat sticking to his skin, back to a time where he was truly happy, watching his most beloved one passionately play his own refrain.   
Arthur could scarcely believe it. It was the song. It hadn’t been recorded, or been able to be played by anyone else, not properly. They couldn’t put the soul into it that the song required. He slowly stood up from the wrought iron desk he’d made his own since 1934, the year Prohibition ended, trying not to get his hopes up and failing miserably, and made his way to the door.   
He slid it open, the hinges not daring to make a sound in the hushed reverie taking place. The same way it had been at the recital, all those years ago on a rainy November night.   
Arthur couldn’t believe his eyes.   
At the piano, the very piano he’d taken from Merlin’s home, was its rightful owner. His eyes were closed, his face content, his body relaxed. It was him.   
Arthur had to brace himself against the doorframe to keep from falling to his knees. Here he was, this was the real one.   
Arthur could feel it in his very soul, and wondered how he could ever believe the shades were real. He took what felt like his first breath in a long time. It was shuddering, but restorative.   
All too soon, the song ended and Merlin stood up. His style was more modern, but the color scheme was the same. Red, blue, and brown. It nearly made Arthur start crying.   
Though Merlin looked better in black, those colors sent him further back then the twenties. They took him back to Camelot.   
The audience clapped, heartily, but Merlin didn’t seem to notice. He was making his way to a pale young woman with dark hair. Morgana.   
Arthur wasn’t sure if a god existed or not, but if one did, he thanked it repeatedly for Morgana. She’d orchestrated his first meeting with Merlin and she brought the very same man back here, tonight.   
He had to force himself not to sprint over to the pair, to keep up the casual grace Merlin had when Arthur had first come to the speakeasy. He didn’t do so well, but it didn’t matter. When that famous cerulean gaze locked onto him, recognition glimmered in their depths.   
Arthur’s breath caught. Did Merlin remember already? Of course he would remember quicker than Arthur had. There was no word perfect for what Merlin was, but certainly not like Arthur.  
“Arthur?” Merlin asked, not even above a whisper. Arthur couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face. He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust himself not to break down in tears.  
“You know him?” Morgana asked Merlin.  
“We go back a long time.” Merlin said with a smile. He knew how big of an understatement that was, judging by the twinkle in his eyes. Arthur’s eyes stung.   
This wasn’t a shade. This was Merlin. No matter how many times he thought it, it still didn’t seem like reality.   
Morgana seemed to get the hint and walked away. Arthur couldn’t hold himself back anymore and pulled Merlin into a fierce hug, which was gladly returned.   
“Merlin…It’s really you, this time.” Arthur breathed.  
“Of course it is.” Merlin murmured. “I’m sorry I took so long.”  
“I should be the one apologizing. I left you alone for 1400 years, all I did was 92 years.” Arthur said. Merlin laughed. He could tell tears were lurking just beneath the surface. “Merlin, Merlin…” Arthur whispered.   
He was too afraid to let go. Too afraid to suddenly realize this was a mere dream.   
Arthur ran his fingers through his love’s silky locks. He was dimly aware someone else had begun singing, and thanked them for drawing attention away from them.   
“I love you.” Arthur said, elated that he had the opportunity.  
“I love you, too, Dollophead.”


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this is the epilogue! Thanks so much to everyone who read, commented, left kudos, and bookmarked! Please enjoy the final chapter!

_Six Months Later_  
“You’re famous, you know.” Mordred said, plopping on Merlin’s couch with a magazine. “Look, says here,” He cleared his throat before reading aloud.   
“ _Merlin Emrys, rising star in the world of classical music, has once again riveted audience members with his soulful piano playing. His fingers flew across the keys as if by magic,_ ” Merlin snorted, setting down his tea on the end-table and sitting next to Mordred on the couch. Mordred cocked an eyebrow at the expression used in the magazine. “Preposterous. You’d never use magic on a piano. Anyways, _it almost seemed as if he was playing for something, someone. The audience was so moved that they, myself included, could barely remember to clap when the show was finished._ ” Mordred set down the magazine with a smile. “It’s not just there, either! You’re everywhere, right now. I never thought someone would get this famous if they didn’t make pop music!” Merlin blushed and scratched his neck.  
“I, well…” Merlin stammered  
“Oh, just take the praise, Merlin.” Gwaine said, from a chair across from them. “You know you’re good.”  
“Really, I-”  
“Merlin, you’re fighting a losing battle.” Gwen said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.  
“Alright, fine, thank you.”  
“Say it.” Lancelot said, fighting to get his face free from Gwen’s enormous curls, having curled himself around her.  
“Say what?” Merlin questioned.  
“Say that you’re awesome and you know it.” Leon replied, helpfully.  
“Isn’t that a bit conceited?”  
“Say it.” Perceval said, almost in a teasing manner. Merlin heaved a mighty sigh.  
“I’m awesome and I know it.” Merlin quoted.  
“Wow, feeling a bit proud, are we?” The voice from behind Merlin startled him, much to the amusement of his friends, who burst out into laughter.   
“They made me say it!” Merlin whined, looking up at the grinning blond. Arthur planted a kiss on his forehead and moved around the couch to sit beside him.   
“I’m sure they did, love.” He said, opening a bottle of beer.  
“Are you two sure you want to do this?” Morgana asked, taking a sip of her cocktail. Arthur raised an eyebrow in a near perfect imitation of Gaius. It gave Merlin the chills.  
“Do what?” Arthur questioned.  
“Spend your last unmarried night with us? Don’t you want bachelor parties or something?” Morgana suggested. Merlin and Arthur shared a guffaw.  
“No, thanks. I’ll stick with you guys. I’d rather not get someone’s genitalia shoved in my face, be it male or female.” Merlin said.  
“If the night progresses interestingly, you might get Gwaine’s genitalia shoved in your face.” Arthur earned a peal of laughter from that. Gwaine smirked.  
“Oh, yeah? If the night progresses how he wants it to, you might get Arthur’s genitalia shoved in your face.” Arthur, who had been taking a swig of beer, nearly choked. He spluttered for a moment and Merlin nearly doubled over laughing.   
“You know, that may actually happen.” Arthur said, recovered. Merlin turned red to the tips of his ears.   
And so the night went on until it, eventually, wound down.  
“I think we should probably be getting home. Merlin, you want to use our spare bedroom?” Lancelot questioned, standing up. Merlin frowned, confusedly.  
“Why would I do that?” Merlin asked.  
“Aren’t you supposed to spend the night apart?” Lancelot responded.  
“To hell with that. Arthur and I have had enough nights apart to last a lifetime, we’ll be fine.” Merlin shot it down.  
After everyone had left, the pair got into their shared bed.  
“Did you ever find out what happened to Freya?” Arthur asked, suddenly. Merlin was taken aback by the question, but answered nonetheless.  
“Yeah. Your theory was right. She committed suicide. Why are you worrying about that?” Merlin stretched out his hand and Arthur took it.  
“Because I have no memory of her, whatsoever. I’ve searched through every bit of memory I have, and I can’t find her. I’ve only got the faintest idea of who she is from the one night she sang at the Ambrosia.” Arthur answered. Merlin nodded, running his free hand through Arthur’s hair. “I just wanted to know about you. Your love life before me. You know my entire love life, but I don’t really know about yours.”  
“I understand. She was the only one, by the way. Just her and you.” Arthur smiled and Merlin’s heart swelled.  
“Are you nervous? About tomorrow, I mean?” Arthur asked. He appeared to be nervous about the answer. Merlin chuckled and gently knocked his head into Arthur’s.  
“Not one bit. Knowing our luck, everything is going to go wrong. But I’m not worried. What about you?”  
“I echo your thoughts.” Arthur agreed.  
“I wouldn’t lie, if I were you.” Merlin teased. Arthur looked offended.   
“I am not lying!”   
“Arthur.”  
“Truly, Merlin, I’m not.” Arthur rolled out of bed and began pacing the floor.  
“What are you doing?” Merlin asked, incredulous.  
“To explain it would make me sound idiotic.”  
“You always sound idiotic, how is now any different?” Merlin shot back. Arthur completely passed over the insult.  
“It’s embarrassing.”  
“It also never has to leave this room.”  
“I’m…I’m pacing because…” Arthur stopped abruptly. “I’m pacing because…Ican’thandlehowmuchIloveyou.” He said it too fast, but Merlin understood it. But there was no reason to tell Arthur that.  
“Sorry, what was that?” Merlin tilted his head so that his ear was exposed. “I’m waiting.”  
“Oh, shut up.” Arthur snapped, without real heat.   
He settled back into the bed and stared at Merlin for a few moments before mumbling something that sounded like ‘I love you, you idiot’ and falling asleep. Merlin stroked Arthur’s cheek and smiled, curling into the warmth his fiancé provided.   
“Ambrosia, huh?” He murmured and looked up at Arthur, fond smile growing on his face. “Yeah, not anymore.”   
He closed his eyes and was lulled into a sleep filled with flappers, cigarette smoke, and piano keys by his beloved’s steady breathing. As it was always meant to be.  
 _ **~END~**_


End file.
